Destinies
by Sandyy
Summary: (Sequel to Legacies/standalone) Three years after the first riots in Camelot, England grows increasingly restless under Uther Pendragon. When laws on sorcery begin the change in other countries, and civil unrest stirs again, Merlin, still doubtful, faces a seemingly impossible destiny, and Arthur must choose a side as he struggles with his own beliefs on the persecution of sorcery.
1. Friend and Foe

**AN: Hello again to all you awesome returning readers. Welcome to the sequel of Legacies! For those of you who have not read Legacies, this fic CAN stand alone, but Legacies would provide some nice background for you, and if you enjoy my writing, it is 25 chapters and complete! **

**For your patience, I have written a particularly long chapter! As you may remember, I will be MIA for the next month, digging holes in the ground somewhere in a national park with no computer and no internet, so it may be some time in July when you get the next chapter, for which I apologize profusely. **

**One again, thank you for your patience, thank you for following my story, and I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it! **

**~Sandyy**

* * *

Merlin's face scrunched up, and his mouth thinned into a line. If he never had to slosh through another puddle on the way to class again, it would be too soon. The water seeped in through his cloth sneakers and squelched unpleasantly between his toes with every step.

"Have you ever heard such a load of nonsense?" Arthur burst out as he fell in with his friend on the path. Merlin had to quicken his step to keep up with the blond's brisk, agitated pace. "Norway, Germany, Sweden—none of them have ever faced the problems we have with magic, and yet this _Muirden _fellow is preaching to us _reconsidering _our 'stringent policies'? _His _country didn't get torn apart by sorcerers. It's bad enough that he's discussing amnesty movements for his own country, but to suggest them for _us_? No one has even mentioned that here since MP Fox left. Who the hell does Muirden think he is?"

"It's just words, Arthur," Merlin said wearily. He never liked these discussions, even accustomed as he was to keeping his true thoughts deeply buried. "The protests have been happening off and on for the last three years. Nothing's going to come of this."

"Yeah? Well they certainly made a mess of the campus," Arthur grumbled shaking an abandoned cardboard protest sign off the sole of his shoe with an expression of distaste. That was true, Merlin reflected wryly. Mud and grass stained the sidewalk for a block past the field, and trash still littered the area where the protest had dispersed just hours before. "Whatever they're trying to achieve, nothing _good _can come of it," Arthur persisted in a harsh tone. "You remember what happened the year we finished secondary school." Merlin closed his eyes briefly. As if he could forget. Camelot had burned, and his best friend had died in the riots. There had been a period of quiet after Will's death, but people had never completely settled down since then. Protests were now a common sight, especially in big cities and on energetic university campuses like Oxford.

"The riots had nothing to do with sorcerers," Merlin said firmly. "It was Fox who stirred them up, and there hasn't been word of her since she fled the country."  
"There were rumors that she was a sorcerer herself," Arthur pointed out.

"That's what people say about every politician they don't like. People have even suggested that your father has some history of dalliance in sorcery," Merlin retorted, slightly annoyed. "Look, this will blow over. People are just discussing the matter, and that's healthy. Public affairs like that should be talked over—especially sensitive ones."

"Not this one." Arthur's tone was clipped and brusque. Merlin fell silent and pulled up his hood as a fresh drizzle started. There was no point in discussing further right now. Arthur was being unusually stubborn. The blond could be intolerant when it came to magic, but usually he wasn't _this _uncompromising on the matter. Today, it seemed he'd put all lingering traces of doubt in the back of his mind.

"Arthur…" Merlin hesitated at the exit to the archway. Arthur hadn't even slackened pace, but this wasn't the way back to their flat. "Where are you going?" he asked slowly.

"To get a drink," Arthur said without turning around. _A drink_? Merlin groaned.

"Couldn't you settle for a coffee? The café's just…" He paused since Arthur was marching straight on and clearly not listening. "…across the street from us," he finished and followed after the blond with a resigned sigh. "Or you could get a cup of tea—at _home… _Alright… fine. Let's just freeze our feet off walking to the pub instead. Great idea," he continued, half to himself as he caught up with the blond. "What's this about anyways? You never drink on weekdays. You _do _know you still have class in the morning." Arthur shot him a narrow-eyed look—one that seemed to ask his usual question: _do you ever shut up? _Merlin tilted his head and quirked a smile. _You know I don't. _"Drowning your sorrows?" he offered. _That_ got a response.

"What 'sorrows'?" Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes at Merlin.

"Gwen," Merlin offered with a shrug.

"I am _not _upset over Gwen. That was weeks ago."

"And you haven't talked to each other in weeks," Merlin asserted.

"We don't have any classes together," Arthur said flatly.

"She lives next door to us."

"We're busy."  
"You mean _Gwen _is busy." The comment earned Merlin a glare from the blond.

"I wasn't even that serious about Gwen. We're just friends." Merlin nearly rolled his eyes in turn.

"You two have been on and off for the last three years. She's the _only _one you were ever serious about," the dark haired student scoffed.

"I've had other serious girlfriends," Arthur argued stubbornly. Merlin tilted his head.

"Really? Which one?" Arthur gave him a dark look which Merlin took as his cue to proceed. He made a show of considering the matter for a moment. "Let's see… there was Vivian who practically had to be chased out of the apartment with death threats. She still stalks you on the campus sometimes,"

"She does not!" Arthur's disconcerted look belied the protest. Merlin suppressed a smile and carried on, ignoring the interruption.

"And… let's see… Sophia. She was a _real_ keeper—totaled your first car and dumped you right afterward, leaving you alone to endure the tirade from your father. Oh, and then _Elena—_"

"Elena does _not _count," Arthur cut in instantly. Merlin snorted.

"Sure. If you say so," he scoffed. Arthur resumed his sullen silence. "You still like her," Merlin added "It's bloody obvious. Why can't you just admit it?" He nearly ran into his companion and found himself standing still, now face to face with the blond. He took a step backwards, surprised, and looked back at Arthur, but there was no anger or annoyance in his friend's face—only a strange, conflicted expression.

"She's with Lance now," Arthur said bluntly. It was a testament to Arthur's real feelings that he didn't even ask which 'her' Merlin was referring to. They both knew. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "Just drop it, Merlin."

"Alright," Merlin said quietly, holding his hands up in surrender. Arthur turned on his heel, and Merlin waited a beat before he couldn't help adding with a wicket grin, "I still have _the_ picture." Arthur stopped again, now outside the door of the pub, and fixed his gaze on his flatmate. "You really ought to post it. The look on your face when Elena—"

"If _the _picture ever makes it onto the internet," Arthur interrupted in a low voice, "I will make your life a living hell."

"More than you already do?" Merlin quipped.

"Yes," Arthur growled. Merlin grinned unconcernedly.

"I'll think about deleting it if you buy me a drink." That earned him a sharp cuff over the ear which he failed to dodge.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur ordered him and pulled open the door of the pub.

It was noisy inside the pub—unusually so for a week night. The small space was crowded with noise and activity, everyone talking at once, some with raised voices, glassware clinking, ice at the bar rattling noisily, chairs scraping on the wood floor. If Merlin hadn't known better, he'd have assumed there was a football game to attract such a crowd. As it was, the number of people made him wary. Perhaps there was some sort of gathering going on here that he hadn't heard about. Arthur, ever the pragmatist, paid no heed to the other occupants and made straight for the bar, and Merlin followed. It would be nice, he reflected, if Arthur kept half an eye open for his own safety. What Arthur _didn't _know about Sophia was that she hadn't just been out for a joy-ride. Merlin had caught the girl trying to smuggle multiple cards out of his wallet. How he'd missed Arthur's car keys in the girl's pocket was another matter… Gold digging girls was the least of the blond's problems, though. As son of the nation's current leader, Arthur was subject to press attention and, of course threats from political activists and other lively, opinionated people. Kanen was the first of many, though most not as grave as his threat, and it wasn't very long since Arthur finally got free of his bodyguard and Leon was assigned to another post. Merlin was certain that if Arthur got himself in trouble now, he'd have a new bodyguard assigned in no time.

Resigned to his usual role of watchdog, Merlin took a seat at the far end of the bar and let his eye wander the room. Amidst the other voices one particularly loud one rose over the hubbub of the room, particularly noticeable for its casual lilt—an American. Merlin's interest sharpened a touch. It was rare to catch an American alone in Britain these days. They always seemed to come in packs and especially since the civil war. America was careful of her citizens, and Britain still suffered a less than stellar reputation after the civil unrest that had nearly torn the country apart in 2057.

"You lot should just take a leaf out of our book an' relax a little," the foreigner's voice intoned cheerfully. Merlin caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered man with thick, dark hair, a scruffy beard along his jawline and a lively gleam in his brown eyes.

"And let those dogs rule our country again?" one of his listeners demanded.

"Let the man talk," another interrupted, leaning forward eagerly. "Is that what America's up to? Relaxing the laws?"

"Modifying them," the American amended. "For the benefit of the country." Merlin caught the murmur around him—a mixture of unease but also strong curiosity. A short, pale-haired student leaned forward, clearly dubious.

"But it's all talk, isn't it? Surely no one will actually pass a bill like that,"

"Oh it'll pass," The American said with utter confidence and a cheerful grin for his listeners. "Maybe not here in England. But the house is mostly Democrats right now. They're the progressives. They want t' see things change, y' know."

"Nothing's going to be changed here as long as Uther's in charge," the pale haired student's companion chimed in. Merlin couldn't see his face, but he imagined a scowl to match the tone of voice.

"Uther's a damned fool. It makes sense. Y'have less enemies if you make friends of them," the American replied. There was a ripple of murmured consent among his listeners though a scant few kept quiet, and Merlin could fairly sense their discomfort even from across the room. It made him squirm a little as well. Talking about Uther that way was a sure ticket for trouble. He got the impression that the bombastic American wasn't concerned about trouble, though.

"You can't make friends of a sorcerer." The comment was soft, meant for Merlin's ears alone. Merlin's head came about abruptly. Arthur was standing a foot to his left, one drink in either hand. His eyes lingered on the American at the distant table, alight with a familiar stubborn glint. Merlin pursed his lips.

"Don't pick an argument with a drunk man. You can't win," he advised, lifting his shoulders. Arthur snorted and turned to set the drinks on the bar, but they never made it. To all appearances, the woman he crossed paths with seemed to have appeared out of thin air with a tray on her hand. One of the drinks sloshed over Arthur's sleeve and hand, and the other clattered to the ground with the woman's tray and drinks, splashing Merlin's already soaked trainers with alcohol. He grimaced and moved his feet back, letting the glass roll away. Ah well. His shoes were already stained with mud.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll get you replacements," I'm sorry!" She was already on her knees, hurrying to pick everything up, head bowed. Merlin crouched down to help her. "Oh no. I'm _so _sorry," she repeated.

"It's alright. It'll wash out," Arthur said slowly, blinking and shaking his head. He had an odd expression on his face, as if he'd just emerged from deep water. His voice sounded a little odd, and Merlin looked up at him.

"Er… actually," The woman lifted her head as well to glance at Arthur, and Merlin caught a glimpse of what looked like unusually bright amber-yellow eyes. "I was talking to your friend here." She took the last glass out of Merlin's hand and met his eyes squarely. And _n_o… they weren't amber. Not amber at all, but a deep, intense and equally unusual shade of blue. "Thank you," she added. Merlin blinked at her, baffled. He could have sworn—

"It was nothing." She offered him a brilliant smile in response. "I'll get you another with a refund."

"Oh—no need for that. It's not a big deal, honestly," Merlin tried weakly to protest, but she was already turning to go. But something in her gently angular face and the dark brown hair that framed it, even the brisk but graceful way she moved seemed vaguely familiar. And her _eyes…_ "Hang on," he called after her, reaching out as if to catch at her sleeve and stop her. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him, bright eyes shining inquisitively. "Do I know you?" She tilted her head ever so slightly, and an enigmatic smile tugged at her lips.

"Do you want to?" Merlin felt his ears warming.

"Wh-I, uh—" But now she was gone, balancing the tray gracefully on one hand as she slipped behind the bar and into a back room. A long, strange silence followed, and Merlin reached out to hand Arthur a napkin for his still dripping sleeve, mildly concerned by the vacant, confused stare on his friend's face.

"Arthur?" He flicked the napkin at Arthur, and the blond shook himself again and squinted at Merlin.

"What… was _that _all about?" he asked slowly with a bewildered expression. The blue-eyed young woman chose that moment to reappear with their drinks.

"Sorry about that." She said, setting them on the bar. "Enjoy. They're on the house." She offered Merlin a last, brilliant smile and swept away again. Merlin slowly reached down to pick up his glass, and from underneath the smooth paper notes, he picked up the napkin she'd left between two fingers A little number was scrawled across the corner in neat, curly handwriting. A grin slowly crept across the warlock's face.

"You know, I was wrong. Coming here _was _a great idea." Arthur stared for a moment at the napkin, scowled, and picked up his own drink to take a swig. Merlin turned his attention to his own drink, chuckling.

"Well if it isn't the princeling himself, come down from on high to visit his subjects." The laughter died in Merlin's throat. The noise on the other side of the pub had died down and the American was nowhere to be seen—perhaps he'd left… Merlin hadn't heard the newcomer approaching. He bit his lip as he eyed the stocky, broad shouldered man who'd spoken. _Don't pick an argument with a drunk man… _Merlin slowly let go of his drink and stood up. Beside him, Arthur's fingers curled around his ale mug, and the knuckles paled.

"Maybe we should go," Merlin muttered close to his ear. The drinks were free anyways, and it wasn't worth a broken jaw, the inevitable reaction from Uther, and a new bodyguard assignment for Arthur to assert his right to stay. Arthur looked furious, but he slowly released his grip on the mug as well and stood up.

"I was just leaving," he said quietly.

"What, without finishing your drink? Is our humble fare not good enough for you, m'lord?" a second, a younger man with small, sharp eyes mocked, close by the side of the first.

"No. I've just lost my appetite is all," Arthur deadpanned, moving carefully past them with Merlin at his side. The pub remained eerily silent as they made their way through the crowd to the exit.

Merlin let out a soft breath when they made it out the door. He couldn't blame Athur for his annoyance. Uther was still highly unpopular among certain groups of people, and his reputation always landed squarely on the shoulders of his son when spotted in public.

"We'll get drinks for the flat on the way home, yeah?" he offered.

"Sure. Whatever," Arthur muttered, turning to go.

"Hang on. We were going to pay our respects to his highness." Merlin's heart sank. The stocky fellow, apparently the ringleader of this crew, had come through the door behind them, and he strolled forward to come around and face Arthur with a leering grin, and this time he wasn't alone. The beady-eyed little man from the bar was there along with a couple others. Students maybe, or some of the many unemployed members of the younger generation. Merlin didn't like the look of them, narrowed eyes and rigid stance, one or two clearly having a little more on board than strictly necessary, which meant lowered inhibitions. They seemed to be forming a line behind the first man, blocking Arthur's escape. His eyes darted from him to the others gathering at his back. What worried him the most was the way these men moved together, as if they knew each other, and the fact that some of them hadn't come out of the bar but emerged from the shadows like they'd been waiting. As if this was _planned_. Was it possible someone was tracking Arthur's movements? He didn't have time to consider that at the moment, though as they drew closer, and he placed himself at Arthur's side, feeling his insides twist with anxiety. He couldn't let them hurt Arthur, but he would be useless in a fight without a touch of magic to protect himself, let alone trying to protect Arthur at the same time… He raised a hand ever so slightly, tensing, fingers spread as he ran through the easiest tricks to play with his magic. Perhaps the drunk men would make this easier for him. How much would they trust their eyes right now anyways…

"Oh, let the princeling alone." Merlin flicked a glance to the side towards the lazy voice beside him, surprised to hear the American again. The man was leaning against the doorframe of the pub, watching the scene with mild interest as he took a drag at the lit cigarette in his mouth.

"Why? Worried for his pretty face?" the stocky man sneered.

"Nah," the American pushed himself off the wall and drew up to his full height, surprisingly steady and sharp for a man who'd appeared drunk just a few seconds ago. "I just don't like cowards. And," he flicked his half-used cigarette away lazily with a roguish grin. "I think I like our odds." He nodded to Arthur and Merlin.

"A drunk, a pretty boy, and a scrawny runt? I think I like them too," the stocky man responded. Merlin thought he counted five men, but he couldn't confirm the number since all at once they were moving, and Merlin shifted to put himself protectively in front of Arthur, but he almost instantly lost track of the blond when one of their opponents closed on him with a scornful grin. Merlin, too busy trying to stay on his own feet as he ducked away from his attacker's grasping hands, abandoned his attempt to relocate Arthur for a moment. The second lunge he was not quite prepared for, and he twisted to free himself, lost his balance, and clumsily toppled to the hard ground. He hadn't used magic in so open a place for over two years, but now he turned his head as his eyes flickered gold as the man dove for him. From that angle, he easily used a surreptitious telekinetic push on the back of his attacker's knees and toppled him over then guided the man's fall so he tripped a second attacker behind him. For good measure Merlin stirred up a handful of dirt, trash, and gravel into their faces to keep them out of the way for a moment before he rolled over and pushed himself up on his hands and knees, eyes flitting back and forth in a quick, urgent search for his flatmate, but he hadn't gone far. Arthur had engaged the stocky man who'd first started harassing them, and he had the man's wrist and arm, and he twisted them neatly, bringing the man to his knees, face contorted with pain—an all too familiar move that Merlin had been on the receiving end of before. But behind Arthur, something instinctively drew Merlin's eye, and he felt a shock of ice-cold fear stab through his insides. Someone was approaching from behind Arthur, and small though it might be, the gleam of metal shone in the approaching assailant's hand.

"Arthur!" Merlin surged to his feet, eyes just lighting with the golden blaze of magic, not having enough time to reach Arthur, but another figure reached the back-stabbing assailant first. Merlin saw the shadow-shrouded figure catch the attacker's unarmed hand, and that was as much as he witnessed before he was flat on his back a second time and lay for a second, stunned by the impact of his head on the cold cement. It was all he could do to lift his hands and shield his face as a halfhearted attempt to grasp at his magic which was almost as rattled as his consciousness at the moment. A pair of hands grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him upright, limp and dazed, but the blow never came. He heard a strangled yell, sounds of the scuffle nearby, shoes scraping on the pavement, and an angry voice.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"He got in the way!"

"Put the god-damned knife away you blundering _idiot_," the one holding Merlin shouted, sending a stab of pain searing through his throbbing head. He released Merlin and left him to crumple to the ground again.

"Get out of here before someone calls the cops!" Merlin suddenly felt sick. He rolled over unsteady as he was and blinked to clear his vision.

"Arthur?" he croaked, staggering to his feet.

"Go. _Go!" _Merlin caught a glimpse of the attackers vanishing into the shadows and around the corner of the pub and Arthur's hair, pale gold in the thin light of the pub window. His hunched shoulders were outlined in its glow, and Merlin's heart pounded in his throat as he tried to stumble over to his flatmate.

"Arthur!" Merlin gasped breathlessly, almost falling to his knees beside the blond, still dazed from the blow to his head. "Wh-you, are you—" he managed clumsily.

"Yeah, fine. I'm trying to…" Arthur lifted a hand and squinted at it in the dim light, and Merlin's throat tightened. His fingers were slick with blood. "Oh hell… Merlin—" The warlock hesitated a split second, recognizing the prone figure before Arthur and registering the fact that it wasn't Arthur's blood. He'd forgotten about their impromptu companion somewhere in the middle of the struggle. He shouldered the blond aside, already shrugging his coat off. "Call an ambulance," he instructed, using the clean inner lining of his coat to stem the blood flow. Arthur was quick to obey, fumbling with his phone between damp, smeared hands. Merlin bowed his head the moment Arthur was occupied with dialing the emergency number. He took a soft breath, fervently praying he'd remembered the spell right, and whispered the words under his breath, spreading the fingers of one hand over the wound with the coat shielding them from view. The man stirred and groaned softly. "Come on. You need to wake up, alright? I have to keep you conscious until help arrives," Merlin muttered half to himself, moving his hand away and putting pressure on the wound with his jacket.

"Hmm?" The American blinked dazedly. "Wasn' asleep," he mumbled. slowly. Merlin's shoulders relaxed. It seemed to have worked. Even the bleeding had slowed somewhat. The threat of blood-loss would at least be staved off for now, though a cut as deep as this one would certainly need stitches. "Hell. Didn' know that kid had a knife on him," the American commented through his teeth. Merlin pursed his lips.

"Me neither," he said regretfully. "You didn't have to get involved." The American shrugged and smiled—though it turned into more of a grimace.

"Neither did you," he said. For a second, all Merlin could hear was Arthur's voice as he spoke to the emergency responders, then, "What's your name, then?" the American asked.

"Merlin." Merlin smiled back wearily. "Yours?"  
"Gwaine."

"Don't sit up," Merlin said quickly when the man shifted, trying to raise an arm, and he pressed his makeshift bandage firmly over the gash, wincing when the man hissed at the pressure. "I'll shake your hand when I'm not trying to save your life, yeah?" Gwaine chuckled breathlessly.

"Fair enough."

"The ambulance will be here in about three minutes," Arthur said, coming to kneel beside Merlin. "How is he?"

"_He_ can talk," Gwaine responded dryly, squinting up at the blond. "I don't have money for medical bills, you know, mate."

"I'll pay them," Arthur said instantly. The America grinned.

"Alright then," he said. Arthur opened his mouth and blinked at him, clearly having expected an argument, and Merlin couldn't help a snort of laughter at his expression.

"Actually," Gwaine added, "I don't have any money. Spent the last of it in there."

"I'll give you enough for the cab fare then," Arthur allowed. "How far is your place?"

"Don' have a place."

"What?" Gwaine slowly blinked open his eyes.

"My old man decided I was having a bit too much fun here 'n… cut me off." Gwaine closed his eyes for a moment, face creased with lines of pain. "Got evicted yesterday." Merlin exchanged a slightly bewildered look with his flatmate.

"Well… if it wasn't for you, I'd be the one getting stitches… if not worse." Arthur sighed. "You can stay at our flat for now. We'll find you a place tomorrow." The American grinned widely then grimaced again, coughed, and reached a hand up to his face. Merlin winced. It looked like he'd taken a decent hook to the cheek.

"Here." Merlin found a napkin in his pocket and handed it to Gwaine and was bewildered when the roguish grin returned to the American's face and he batted Merlin's hand away.

"Can't use that, Merlin mate. You'll be wanting to call the girl back," he said, wiping the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Merlin held the napkin up to the light and blinked.

"Oh. Right."

"It doesn't make _any _sense," Arthur cut in, scowling across the American's head at Merlin. "What is it about you? The lost puppy expression?" Merlin lifted his shoulders.

"You just don't appreciate good taste when you see it."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure it's your dashing good looks, _Merlin_. You and your ridiculous ears and those feet you're always tripping over," Arthur scoffed.

"Come on, Arthur, I never said I was all that handsome," Merlin responded with a smirk. "There's just not much of a competition. It's either me or an arrogant prat with the face of a toad." Arthur's eyes widened, but Gwaine chuckled.

"Relax, princess," he said, giving the blond a clumsy pat on the arm. "You're still pretty. You just weren't her type." He cringed and tried to reach a hand down to the still-bleeding gash.

"Lie still. I've got it," Merlin said quietly with a sympathetic grimace. Arthur squeezed his shoulder briefly, but his eyes narrowed at Merlin.

"I do _not _have the face of a toad," he muttered at last. Merlin tilted his head and scrutinized Arthur carefully.

"No. You're right," he said solemnly. "I should leave the poor toads out of it." Arthur opened his mouth, blinked, and stared at his flatmate for a moment, apparently unable to think of a satisfactory comeback, and as the blue-and-red lights of the emergency vehicles spilled across the street, Gwaine let his head rest back on the cement and laughed.


	2. Echoes

**AN: HELLO EVERYBODY! **

**So I lied... I said I wouldn't update till July... but we got a three day break from the field school, and I found a bundle of fantastic reviews waiting for me. You're all absolutely fantastic. :) So I'm doing my best to deserve your continued support!**** TWO updates in twelve days! Sadly, that's a record for me. ^^**

******In archaeology news of the day, I sifted a zillion buckets of dirt through a 1/8 inch grid this week and found only a shiny rock for all my troubles. But... it was flaked by humans, so hey... I have never been more excited over a shiny rock in my life. xD **

******And to the guest who reviewed Legacies (awed-strucked), this is the only way I can reply to you, so I hope you see this. It was my pleasure to write for you. I'm glad you enjoyed the read! **

**Once again... I probably won't get another break, so don't expect a new chapter till July... but I guess you never know? **

**Cheers! Maybe I'll actually find an arrowhead this week? Or a bone...? *fingers crossed***

**Sandyy**

* * *

"What happened to your head?" Merlin flinched and pulled away from light fingers brushing his hair back.

"Uh… nothing." He flattened his hair down over the bruise on his temple. "Knocked it on something." As little as Morgana liked her foster father, she might be worried enough to talk to someone if she heard about Arthur's run-in with the hostile students. An investigation or a new bodyguard would cause more problems than Merlin could count just at the moment, particularly with Gwaine staying at the flat. Morgana's eyes narrowed dubiously, but she sat down across from him and poured a drop of creamer into her coffee. "Arthur and I have a new flatmate," Merlin said by way of changing the topic. He grinned. "An American. He's crashing at our place until he can get a new flat. Got himself evicted last week." Morgana made a face.

"I though international students stayed in the remaining student housing," Morgana commented.

"Usually… but they take every excuse to shunt students into flats off the campus. Building more student housing isn't exactly a priority right now," Merlin said. Oxford had once been home to a considerable magic population, and city and university both been hit hard during the civil war. Even now after fifteen years of reconstruction, the university struggled to sustain three-quarters of the student body it had before, and undamaged classrooms were always scheduled with classes from morning until sundown. Like most of the country, though, the old university and its faculty tenaciously continued to carry on as much as possible like nothing had happened.

"What is an American doing in this dump anyways?" Morgana mused flippantly. "Surely he could find an intact university at home." Merlin shrugged.

"Well… he's only half American. He says he was born in Dublin and his mum took him to America to live with his grandparents after the civil wars started. According to him, his grandparents in America 'got sick of him' and shipped him back to England to make something of himself."

"And now he's been evicted from his flat in the middle of the term," Morgana laughed. "He sounds like quite the character."

"You have no idea. Last night he borrowed a tenner off the table and came back drunk. I'm not sure I want to know how he managed that." Morgana's eyebrows rose.

"How'd you talk Arthur into letting a nutter like that stay in your flat?"

"I didn't. Arthur's the one who invited him." Merlin's grin faded. _This again,_ he thought, suppressing a sigh. "He's not that uptight, Morgana. There's just a lot of… pressure on him."

"He's not the only one," Morgana muttered pointedly. She resumed stirring creamer into her coffee with a thin black straw. "I can't imagine Uther's golden child keeping company with someone like that though." Merlin pursed his lips and stalled for a moment, turning his phone over in one hand to check the time, only half out of necessity. Gwaine had told him that his father died in the civil wars following the orders of some 'pompous, arrogant bureaucrat' in charge of his unit. He thought Arthur was an entitled and prejudiced bureaucrat's son. But for all his odd flaws, Merlin liked the American. He was still relaxed and cheerful, and his opinions certainly hadn't affected his behavior around Arthur. The blond hadn't been around much the last day. He'd been busy with schoolwork as the end of the term drew near.

"They get on," Merlin said, shrugging. "Arthur says hi, by the way," he added.

"He could've said it himself," Morgana said flatly. Merlin shrugged apologetically.

"He's buried in the library somewhere trying to finish his term paper." Morgana looked unimpressed.

"Did he tell you to say that?"  
"No." Merlin bridled instantly. "I'm not here to make excuses for Arthur."

"Come on, Merlin. You know what's going on," Morgana challenged, folding her arms over her chest. "He's avoiding me."

"I certainly _don't _know that." Merlin set his coffee mug down with a sigh. "First of all, Arthur actually _does _have a term paper to write, and secondly I am not your middle man and won't carry messages for either of you. If you have a problem with Arthur, you can talk to him yourself."

"Arthur's the one with a problem. He does this _every _time I have any kind of quarrel with Uther—like somehow he'll be contaminated if he talks to me."

"You push him for an opinion," Merlin said. "He'd be happy to talk to you if he didn't think you'd drag him into the middle of a row." He sighed. "What did you expect, Morgana? You know what Uther thinks about sorcery."

"It wouldn't matter what political platforms I adopted. Uther doesn't listen to me. He might listen to his golden child," Morgana retorted peevishly. Merlin shook his head.

"Arthur would only estrange himself too. It wouldn't help. Don't ask him to take sides between you and Uther. It's not his battle."

"It's everyone's battle," Morgana rejoined harshly. "He'll have to choose a side eventually." She leaned forward over the table, hunching her shoulders and staring down at her mug. "But he'll go with Uther's pigheaded prejudice, I suppose." Merlin blinked.

"Arthur's not like that, and you know it," he protested. Morgana scowled but didn't answer. She was almost as unreasonable as Arthur had been two days before discussing the amnesty acts in Scandinavia. It was times like this that Merlin could imagine that the two children Uther had raised were true brother and sister. They had a matching obstinate streak a mile wide. But in some ways Morgana seemed even more like Uther than the man's own son did. Arthur chose his battles carefully where Morgana fought every battle in sight with an unflagging vigor. And Arthur, as arrogant as he could be, saw the good in others where Morgana judged swiftly and harshly. Merlin disliked the way her judgment of Arthur seemed to fall lately, though. For all their quarrels, the two had always been close before, and they were both good friends of his. He hated to see her driving a wedge between them. "Arthur hasn't got much of a choice right now," Merlin told her. "Anything he says goes straight to the news media. He's under a lot of pressure, and Uther holds the purse-strings. He can't do any differently right now. But you're over legal age of majority. If you got a job and paid your own rent, Uther wouldn't have any say in what you did or said." Morgana shrugged her shoulders.

"That's assuming that England even has free speech anymore," she muttered.

"Things are changing, Morgana," Merlin insisted. "America is putting a bill for amnesty to the vote, and Sweden and Norway are revisiting their laws on sorcery. It's only a matter of time before Uther is forced to at least review our laws."

"Do you really think Uther will ever reconsider the laws on sorcery?" Morgana asked. Merlin paused for a beat. He wasn't entirely sure. Uther had held the country in stasis on this subject for a long time. People still feared even to discuss it…

"Maybe…" He shrugged. "But that's not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it? What happened yesterday? You called at… what was it, five in the morning? Were you having those nightmares again?" Morgana lifted her eyes, and a spark returned to them, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looked more awake and eager than he'd seen her in a long time.

"No. They're gone now." She stole a furtive glance around the room and lowered her voice. "I've met someone… someone who knew how to stop them," she said softly.

"You…" Merlin suppressed a shiver at the words. "Does this _someone _know youhave magic?" he asked, suddenly wary. He had long been her only confidante on the subject of magic, and as uncomfortable as it made him to discuss the topic, he'd always met with her to talk when she needed it. And every time he left with a lingering sense of guilt tempered by a fear of speaking his secret aloud to anyone. He remembered that his magic had once almost caused Gaius' death. Morgana herself was no fool. She wouldn't confide in anyone she thought would reveal her. But all the same, so many magic users had deeply hidden agenda. Merlin knew that all too well himself.

"It's alright. She's with the Druids," Morgana told him quickly. A Druid… that was somewhat reassuring. The dragon had told Merlin about the Druids. They were advocates for peace in the magical community.

"As long as you're safe…" he said slowly.

"It's completely safe," Morgana promised, and he smiled slightly, trying not to look worried. "She's told me so much about our kind," Morgana continued enthusiastically, "About my abilities and the dreams. She says there were once many like myself… seers she called them. They saw the future, sometimes through crystals or spells, but the most powerful ones through dreams. And," she continued, her voice dropping so low that Merlin had to lean forward to listen. "She told me about a great prophecy that the seers of old spoke of—that in the country's darkest hour, a great leader and a powerful sorcerer would come to unite the two peoples of this country." Merlin drew his cup a little closer, staring down at the tendrils of steam rising from it. Two great men whose actions would lead the way for the entire world… It was the same prophecy he'd first heard so many years ago from the dragon. Not that he'd ever believed in such things to start with.

"That's nonsense. An old folk tale," he said quietly.

"Merlin," Morgana's voice rose impatiently. "You _know_ about my dreams… All of them have happened just as I saw them—the riots when we started college, the assassination attempt on Uther's life… you remember. I told you!" Merlin held up his hands in surrender and gestured for her to lower her voice. She stopped for a heartbeat with an impatient acknowledging nod then continued in an urgent half-whisper. "These Druids… they're the only people who can explain why. They're not making up tales." She ignored Merlin's dubious expression and pressed on. "Maybe this warlock has already been born. I think the country needs it more than ever right now. The Druids are all looking. Morgause knows other sorcerers from all over the country. She said they need people like me: people who see the future in their dreams." Merlin almost choked on his mouthful of tea. He swallowed a little faster than he intended to and cleared his throat, eyes watering from the almost scalding liquid.

"Morgause?" he breathed. "You… you don't mean—"

"Morgause Fox," she said, nodding.

"She left the country," Merlin said hoarsely

"She's here. I met her. The druids helped her stay here in hiding," Morgana said.

"And you told her you have..." Merlin trailed off, shaking his head vigorously. "Morgana, you can't trust her. She's a politician—a rabble rouser. She's probably using you!"

"Why would she do that?" Merlin gaped at her. Surely Morgana wasn't so naïve?

"You're Uther Pendragon's adopted daughter. You'd be the perfect media tool!" he said impatiently.

"She wouldn't do anything to harm me, Merlin. She's like me!" Morgana leaned forward, her eyes brightening with excitement, and her words and expression made Merlin feel suddenly cold and numb with foreboding. Morgause Fox was a sorceress... It put the former MP in an entirely new light-and Merlin wasn't sure it was a favorable one. "She's taking a stand for people like us," Morgana urged. "This country's system is screwed up. Things aren't going to change if people don't start making noise." Merlin shook his head and found his voice again.

"Yes, but not like Fox. She's a radical. She stirs up the crowds-incites anger, excitement, riots. If there's going to be a change, it needs to be a compromise, not a rebellion or military coup. It has to be done right. This country just recovered from a civil war. We don't need another one." Morgana paused with her cup raised halfway to her lips.

"Why not?" Her voice hardened, and it made Merlin cringe.

"Morgana, you can't mean that." The girl ignored him, setting her coffee cup down hard on the table.

"Do you really think anything short of a revolution is going to change things for the better in this country?" she demanded harshly. "The sickness has gone too deep. Sometimes it takes radical action to change things." Merlin stilled. He'd always loved the fire in Morgana's eyes—the energy and determination that rang in her voice, but he could see as clear as day how harmful that energy could be if channeled in the wrong direction, and this... this was leading nowhere good.

"You're wrong." Merlin lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. "Change is already happening. You only have to open your eyes to see it. Several countries are leaning towards more lenient laws on magic. It's been discussed on the air, in public, all over the country. Attitudes are shifting. But it's going to take time-time, patience, understanding, and forgiveness. _Fox_ is aggressive, brash, and impatient. She's hurting her side more than she's helping it."

"Patience? Forgiveness?" Morgana scoffed. "Easy for you to say. You wouldn't understand what it's like to live in fear of your life everywhere you go."

"Maybe I understand more than you think." The words were out before Merlin could stop himself. He dropped his eyes to his cup and fell quiet, aware of her gaze on him and her sudden silence. Gaius was going to kill him…

"I'm sorry. I know, you and Gwen have both seen people falsely accused," she said at last in a more level tone. "But what you went through with Aredian… it's a way of life for me. I don't want to live like this anymore. I want to be free. Morgause has been a strong voice in this country, and she will be again. She can change things for the better. She still has many supporters, and Uther made her into a martyr when he issued an order for her execution. When she sets the movement into action, I want to be part of it. If I can help, I will." Merlin's shoulders slumped, and he warily met her eyes. Morgana's ideals were reminding him painfully of another friend three years ago in Armagh… and damned if he was going to let her destroy herself too. He had to make her listen, and he had one card left to play. He took a breath.

"Morgana, there's something I need to tell you." Morgana tilted her head ever so slightly. "Not here," Merlin added and bit his lip. Morgana might be willing to talk about her 'dreams' here, but he wouldn't speak his secret aloud in a public place. "Can you come back down to Oxford next Saturday?"

"Yeah," she said slowly.

"We can talk at my flat. Arthur's always at the shooting range on Saturday afternoons." Morgana's eyebrows drew together and her eyes narrowed curiously. She nodded.

"I'll be there."

* * *

Arthur was tucked away in a reading room, a stack of books perched precariously on the edge of his desk. The top of his laptop screen was just visible past the books, open. Merlin stopped at the end of the table and smiled, putting his concerns about Morgana aside for the moment. Arthur's head rested on the page of the current book he'd been reading, and his laptop screen had gone blank probably long ago. He sauntered casually over to the desk right beside Arthur and dropped his backpack next to the desk with a satisfyingly loud _thud_. Arthur started up, blinking owlishly in the yellowish light of his reading lamp.

"How's that paper coming along?" Merlin asked cheerfully.

"Idiot." Arthur glared at him. "I was having a nice nap." Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I _was _coming to ask what you wanted from the takeout menu. Anyways, the library closes in ten minutes," he pointed out, gesturing at a nearby wall clock. Arthur groaned and rubbed his eyes miserably as he sat up. Merlin's brows drew together. "Did you go to class today?"

"No." Arthur crumpled up a protein-bar wrapper and stuffed it in his jeans-pocket. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I think I'm coming down with something."

"You did get knocked on the head earlier this week," Merlin observed. Arthur ran his fingers through his hair with a grimace.

"Not _that _hard," he mumbled. He did look a bit pale, but then he'd kept himself locked up in the library for the past day and a half. Merlin pushed the thought aside. Arthur could take care of himself. He had better things to do than worry about a sore, ill-tempered flatmate. "How's Morgana?" Arthur asked unexpectedly as he began to collect the items strewn across his desk.

"Good. She was sorry you weren't there," Merlin answered. It was a half-truth he supposed. Arthur glanced up at him.

"Is she still going on about that bloody right wing amnesty movement?"

"Yeah," Merlin answered slowly. His voice was a bit edged. He reached down to pick up a book, avoiding Arthur's eyes, but it was snatched out from under his hand before he could touch it. Tired as he was, a faint kindling of interest relit in Arthur's weary eyes: the usual guarded concern that accompanied discussions on Morgana.

"You think she's right." Merlin withdrew his hand and shifted back a step, still careful not to meet Arthur's eyes. He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.

"I think you should talk to her," he answered diplomatically, favoring the former option.

"Morgana's a die-hard progressive. You know we won't agree on anything."

"That's not true. It'd do you both good to hear each other out if either of you could shut up long enough to listen to the other," Merlin said. Arthur spread his hands.

"So we discuss them. What good will it do? Curfew, travel restrictions, laws… executions. They're not going to change." Arthur sighed heavily and pushed a couple of books to the side. "What do you think? Is Morgana right?"

"I…" Merlin's mouth went dry. He carded his fingers restlessly through the tassels of his red scarf. "I don't know…" he stammered. Arthur dropped a final book on his pile with a conclusive _thump _and turned narrowed eyes on him.

"What is it with you?" he asked irritably. "You come out with the most ridiculous progressive opinions sometimes, and when I _ask _you about something, you lock up and act as skittish as a stray cat. You're almost as spooked about magic as you are about the Patroni."

"I'm not afraid to talk about it!" Merlin rejoined instantly, stung by the irony of Arthur's statement.

"Then what is it?" Arthur demanded. "Are you afraid I'll tell my father?" _More than you know. _Merlin suppressed a shudder.

"You said just a couple days ago that that kind of things _shouldn't _be discussed," he said crossly, unable to keep a touch of ice out of his voice. Arthur shifted.

"Look. Never mind what I said then. I was…" He stopped, glancing down at his laptop keyboard. "Maybe… not in the best mood." Merlin's lips twitched upward. It was so typical Arthur. Never a straightforward admission.

"_Now_ you're getting somewhere," he cajoled. "The next step is called '_apologizing_'." He drew the word out slowly and was forced to dodge sideways and put his hands up to shield his face from the book Arthur threw at him.

"Shut up, Merlin. Just answer the question," Arthur muttered, glaring balefully at him. The smile slipped from Merlin's face. Even when he was in the best of moods, Merlin didn't like to broach the topic of sorcery with Arthur. Merlin knew the doubts were still there, hidden under his façade of dauntless confidence, but Arthur had always stood with his father—perfectly trained to put on a good show for the media.

"England's still struggling," Merlin said evasively, picking up the discarded book. "I guess… people want to see some change happening. Not the old routines your father put in place more than fifteen years ago."

"That's what 'people' think. I'm asking what you think," Arthur said, arching an eyebrow. Merlin offered him a sheepish smile.

"I… don't?" he suggested, hopeful. Arthur snorted.

"I could almost believe that. Come on, Merlin. Spit it out. You usually love to talk." Merlin ran his thumb over the pages of the small, cloth-bound book in his hands.

"I think… people are afraid of sorcery because of what it did to this country when we were younger… but sorcerers lived among the population here for centuries before the uprising—in peace. Maybe it would be easier if we left them alone. If we don't trouble them, they won't trouble us." Arthur's brow creased, and Merlin waited a moment, watching uneasily for a reaction. Silence… it was better than what he'd gotten for his trouble two days ago he supposed. "Well don't think too hard about it," he said mildly. "I know it's painful for you—especially on an empty stomach." He ducked when Arthur hurled a pencil at his face with deadly accuracy. "Right. You're ordering your own food now," he said, grinning, and quickly backed out of the room before Arthur could throw anything else.

Most students were already gone by this hour on a Friday night, save a scant few Merlin spotted as he wove his way through the shelves towards the stairs, heading for the front desk. A soft thud shattered the silence of the library. Merlin stopped and tilted his head to listen, and he caught the low murmur of a voice, so quiet he might have missed it had he not been standing still. Something about the tone made him pause. It sounded low, angry… almost threatening. He slowly, silently moved forward to peer around the shelf, straining to catch the words, and stopped, frozen at the end of the aisle. A tall, stocky fellow had his back to Merlin, and he stood almost a foot taller than the girl in front of him. Several textbooks lay about her feet, some open and with crumpled pages.

"Please, I can't. Not here. Not right now. People will see." Her voice shook. She tried to step backwards, but the man had a vice-grip on her.

"Do you want me to take my payment later?" The man's grip on her wrist tightened, and his free hand tucked a stray strand of dark brown hair behind the girl's ear. She trembled.

"N-no… Please." Merlin took a step forward, jaw clenched and eyes alight with anger.

"I think," he said quietly through his teeth, "That you're hurting her." The man's head came about sharply. Despite his height and burly build, his face was rounded and somewhat childish. The leering expression didn't suit him at all.

"This doesn't concern you," he growled at Merlin.

"The problem is that hurting someone else doesn't concern _you_," Merlin said dryly. "Take your hands off of her right now, or I'll report you to the police." The man released his grip on the girl's wrist, his face coloring an impressive shade of red.

"Don't forget our agreement," he spat at the girl. He turned away, and Merlin heard the soft crunch of a book's spine under his foot as stalked away. Merlin watched until he was out of earshot and turned to the mute victim.

"Are you alright?" he asked the girl. She cradled her bruised wrist against her chest and nodded shakily. "Has he bothered you before?" Merlin pressed, coming forward to collect her fallen textbooks.

"N…no, it's fine," she stammered.

"It's not fine. He was threatening you." Merlin scowled as he picked up the book with the broken spine. Several crumpled pages had fallen out, and he carefully slid them back into the book, smoothing them flat again. "You should report him."

"No. Please… it's fine. I know him," she said, shaking her head. She gathered the textbook out of Merlin's arms and held it against her chest. "Really, I'm okay… thank you." Merlin didn't like it, but she clearly didn't want to talk about the man just now so he straightened up with her other books. He took note of the title and touched the spine of the damaged book.

"I've got a copy of that. My flatmate and I used it for a class last term. He won't mind if I lend it to you." She lifted her head and met his eyes for the first time, her expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, absolutely. It's not a problem." Merlin reached a hand into his pocket, trying to balance the other books he was holding. "I'll give you my number, and I can bring you the book tomorrow." He hesitated. "Maybe you could meet me at a café… get a cup of tea…" He faltered, , wondering a bit numbly where he'd thought he was going with that offer. _Great… and now I sound like a hopeless idiot. _"Or… coffee if you prefer… I mean, only if you want to—" He stopped short, having managed to retrieve his phone from his pocket at the cost of two books atop his stack, and to his surprise, the girl's eyes narrowed and she let out a soft, lighthearted laugh. Merlin let out a breath of relief he hadn't even known he was holding.

"Let me do it," she said, taking the phone. Merlin surrendered it with a slightly embarrassed grin and recollected the fallen books. The smile faded slightly when he saw the girl tense, and he followed her gaze to a figure half-obscured in the shadows a few shelves away. He set his jaw, a surge of fierce determination kindling inside of him. He was going to get to the bottom of what that man held over her, whatever it took… but first, he was going to make sure she didn't get hurt again. Not tonight at least.

"Tell you what," he said a little more confidently as she handed his phone back. "It's getting dark. I'll walk you home." Her relieved expression was enough to make it worthwhile, even had her home been all the way back in London. He smiled brightly again and he extended a hand. "I'm Merlin by the way." She smiled back, genuine gratitude shining in her amber eyes, and took his hand.

"I'm Freya."


	3. Revelations

**AN: Dear readers,**

******Sorry! I came home from my field school to ****one of those unpleasant weeks when everything just sort of happens all at once and everyone needs you everywhere at the same time. **It was a difficult few days right after I returned, and I needed some time to recollect myself, but thankfully I've re-assembled the vestiges of my sanity now. I know I've neglected to respond to some reviews and PMs, but be patient and I'll get to those in a couple days or so.

**As regards the rest of my field school, though, I _did_ find my arrowhead-four in fact-among other things. So I had a great time there! I'm settling back into a regular**** work/life schedule this upcoming week, and ****I hope I'll get into a regular posting schedule as well. So, hang in there, and thank you for your patience and all of your kind words about my writing. Your encouragement continues to cheer me.**

**Yours,  
****Sandyy **

* * *

"Arthur… _Arthur?_" Arthur opened one eye to squint at the speaker. _Wasn't she just talking to Merlin? _He'd lost track of who was where several minutes ago when he stopped to lean his cheek against the cool window pane while his paper printed out, one painstakingly slow page at a time. The flat was a flurry of activity, and it made his head throb with each peak of noise. He had a lot on his mind anyways, and Gwaine and Merlin seemed pretty on top of the discussion about new living arrangements. He didn't really need to be involved.

"Sorry, what?" he mumbled, lifting his head to look at her. To say that he and Gwen had 'broken up' would be an exaggeration. They'd never been officially _dating. _Thomas Smith represented one of Uther's greatest failings—in the eyes of the media at least. The press viewed the incident with Smith—and later similarly with Aredian and Gaius—as proof that Patroni were unsafe. Arthur was aware that any close relationship between the two families would be difficult for his father, and that thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Arthur was bound by his father's political careers almost as much as his father himself. And that was perhaps where he and Gwen had parted ways most plainly.

"_Morgana_." Gwen enunciated the name with a trace of exaggeration, as if Arthur might have forgotten who that was. "I was asking if you'd talked to her lately. Are you awake?" Arthur winced. Guinevere's mouth was drawn in a thin line, and he couldn't tell whether she was annoyed or just plain impatient with him right now. They had gotten along pretty well since they stopped dating, but Morgana remained a touchy subject. "_You could at least say something… even _pretend _that it bothers you…"_ That was Gwen's last word on the subject, and it remained to plague him every time Morgana and Uther had another row.

"No to both questions," Arthur answered with a sigh. Of course it bothered him when Uther threatened to cut off Morgana's finances, but it also bothered him that Morgana was getting involved with people like the spearheads of the amnesty movement. He wasn't going to choose sides between Uther and Morgana. In his view, neither one of them was 'right'. They were simply two strong personalities clashing. If it wasn't over magic, it would be something else which set them at odds with one another.

"Merlin seems to think she's in some kind of trouble," Gwen said. "He's worried."

"Nothing new on either of _those _points," Arthur said dryly and clamped the stapler down over a corner of his paper with an air of finality. Somewhere behind him, Gwaine and Merlin laughed at something Lance was saying. Arthur wondered why Gwen had decided she needed to talk to him _now_. Wasn't it bad form to chat with an ex when your boyfriend was around, he wondered tiredly.

"She's your _sister_, Arthur," said Gwen.

"Adopted sister," Arthur replied. He brushed past her to get a glass of water from the tap.

"Oh, that makes _all _the difference. No need to worry what happens to her, then," Gwen responded with biting sarcasm. Arthur braced himself to turn back around, glass in hand.

"What am I supposed to do, Guinevere? She doesn't want my help, and she won't listen to me anyways."

"You haven't even tried," Gwen rejoined. Arthur pinched the ridge of his nose for a moment. He didn't have the energy for this right now. He felt as if his headache was creeping down his back and across his shoulders.

"No," he agreed. "I'll talk to Morgana when I want a bloody migraine." Arthur almost groaned at the gathering storm he could read in Gwen's expression. He couldn't deal with this. He wanted to shut himself in a dark room and bury his face in a pillow until he felt halfway normal again. "Look," he finished off his glass of water and snatched his paper off the counter before Gwen could formulate an angry response. "Nothing I say will ever be enough for Morgana, unless I denounce my father openly to the press and take up the banner to march alongside her. If you're so worried about Morgana, go talk to her yourself. I have to go turn this in." His empty glass, set askew on the counter, toppled into the sink with a clatter, and Arthur gritted his teeth, as much because of the noise as the fact that Merlin, Lance, and Gwaine stopped to look at him. He tried to ignore Gwen's look, which appeared equal parts surprise and anger. He reached over the counter to snag his keys off the hook by the door.

"Merlin, could you grab something quick for supper tonight?"

"I've brought back food all week, Arthur. You're done with your paper. You can stop by the supermarket this time if you don't want leftovers." Arthur lifted a hand to his face again. The supermarket sounded like hell on earth right now.

"I'll pay for it," he offered. Merlin frowned at him.

"I'm not going to be at the flat tonight. I'm going out with a friend." Arthur held back a groan of frustration and glanced sideways at the American next to Merlin. Gwaine grinned.

"Not me, mate. Merlin's got a lady friend."

"What? Who?" Gwen tore her gaze from Arthur to fix on his dark haired flatmate. The color rose to Merlin's face.

"It's not—We're just—"

"He's got a picture," Gwaine interjected. Arthur let out a long breath and headed to the door with everyone's attention successfully diverted from him.

"I'll just order out," he said to the air, reaching for the handle.

"Arthur." A voice brought him up short. He slowly turned his head back towards the speaker. It was hard to dislike Lance Cabrera. Arthur for one had failed, despite his inclination towards Gwen's new boyfriend. He had won Arthur over before he'd even seen the young med-student together with Gwen—seen the way she smiled around him, and how alike they seemed: cut from the same cloth, really. Arthur sometimes felt like he came from a different world than Gwen when he realized how little she had to live on, even now, and yet Lance—who could barely afford his monthly payments—had offered Gwaine a place to stay indefinitely while Arthur sorted out matters with his father. Arthur made a mental note to talk with Gwen. Perhaps she could get her boyfriend to accept a little payment.

"Are you alright?" Lance asked. He had an open, honest face. His dark eyes were slightly narrowed and searched Arthur's face inquisitively. Arthur pressed his thumb and forefinger to his forehead and sighed.

"Yeah. Just… need a bit more sleep. I'll be fine." Lance's mouth thinned to a line and his brows drew together.

"Alright. Take care," he said. Arthur forced a smile.  
"Thanks for putting Gwaine up for a bit."

"Not a problem. I imagine he'll liven things up at my place," Lance chuckled.

"Arthur! Don't you want to see Merlin's girlfriend?" the individual in question called. Gwaine was grinning from ear to ear and holding up a resigned looking Merlin's mobile phone.

"She'll be here when I get back, I'm sure," Arthur said, and he snagged his keys from the hook by the door as he slipped out of the flat. Any other time he might've been happy to heckle Merlin about this girl he'd found, but right now he wanted his errand done as soon as possible… and perhaps get some idea what to do with the problem that had been troubling him all week.

Doctor Sellers lived in his office. Arthur was fairly sure of that now at the end of the semester as the man's door was nearly always open and his light on. Despite his apprehensions about the man, Arthur was drawn to the open door like a moth to flame. The professor's heavy brows, worn features, and particularly his flinty blue-gray eyes stirred a deeply buried recollection each time Arthur saw him. Sellers reminded him of someone he'd seen before, fleeting though the encounter had been. Sellers was a bold man, outspoken for one who had lived through the reign of both The Pure and Uther Pendragon… and it had taken Arthur nearly the entire term to figure it out. Even then he'd doubted himself. He liked the unusual professor, and part of him didn't want to believe what he was seeing. He'd meant to speak with Merlin about this so many times, but Merlin always found a convenient escape from the room when the word 'magic' was aired. And it seemed that his friend and flatmate had other things on his mind now.

Arthur could have left his term paper in Sellers' box in the main office, but instead he made his way to the professor's doorway and stood, looking at the rim of the professor's black-framed glasses, just visible under a fringe of curly silver hair. A gleam of gentle, pale yellow flashed off the sheen of the lenses, reminding Arthur of the golden glow he'd seen three times now; Michael Collins, the day Merlin saved life; the blue-eyed woman whose spiders nearly made a meal of him; and one other—the only sorcerer Merlin had ever witnessed performing magic who intended no harm to him. Arthur could picture the sharp eyed, gray haired man standing beneath a snow-laden tree in Camelot, his hand protectively placed on a young, frightened Druid boy's shoulder—a boy whom Arthur, knowing of his magic, had willingly chosen to save. He'd done it before—gone against his father's laws. Now, faced with that choice once more, all he could think of was the one opinion he'd managed to wring out of Merlin when he brought up the subject: _Maybe it would be easier if we left them alone. If we don't trouble them, they won't trouble us._ And after all… what had the silver-haired man done that Arthur should turn him in now?

"Arthur," Professor Sellers looked up from his work and removed his dark-rimmed glasses, smiling in greeting. "Did you find a source for your problem?" he asked. Arthur took a breath. He didn't smile back. Sellers knew _him_. The question that remained was: did he know that Arthur had recognized him? Surely not, or he wouldn't have stayed around to be reported, would he? Arthur pursed his lips.

"There's nothing remaining in the physical record," he said in answer. "All my sources talk about some mystic lore… something called the 'Old Religion' that sorcerers worshipped until The Pure rose to power and brought in a new practice. There's no _evidence_ of either practice though." The professor's eyebrows rose, and Arthur let himself lean a little against the doorframe, closing his eyes halfway. _Damn, _his head ached. Maybe this wasn't the time to address his problem. What could he do about it now, after all?

"Did you read the work on burial customs, necromancy, and the veil between the worlds?" Sellers inquired. Arthur opened his eyes wide and stared at the professor.

"You don't _believe _any of that nonsense do you?"

"Whether or not I believe it is beside the point," Sellers answered. "_That _is where the evidence lies. A great deal of magical lore surrounds the passage from one world to the next, and it is recorded both in literature and stone."

"Stone?" Arthur blinked.

"Ritual circles, cairns, graves aligned with the cycles of the sun, medallions and talismans engraved with the endless knot or a triskelion—there is ample evidence for magic on record. These are only a few of the traditional markers found in England."

"England?" Arthur said then quickly clamped his mouth shut feeling foolish. He sounded like a mindless echo.

"There are different sects and cultures within the magical community, yes," Sellers said. "Just as there are among those without magic. You would find an entirely different set of artifacts pointing to sorcery in Asia or the Americas. You simply have to be looking in order to find them."

"But..." Arthur tugged on a loose strap on the top of his backpack and began tapping a rhythm on his palm to distract himself from the throbbing ache behind his eyes. "If it was so obvious... Why did no one believe in it then?"

"No one?" The professor inquired. Arthur bit back an impatient sigh.

"Okay… maybe a few people… but people thought they were just superstitious."

"Exactly," Sellers agreed. "There have always been the scant few who believed in it, even among the non-magical community, and as you say they were considered mad for most of history." _Yes, I knew that, _Arthur groused to himself.

"That's not what I meant," he protested. "It _was _there the whole time. How did it never come out before? People should have seen it." _And yet no one has seen you…_ The professor chuckled.

"You put too much stock in the perception of your fellow man. We are creatures of habit. We see what we are trained to see. If there is anything you will learn from history, Arthur, it is that at least seventy percent of what we see is what we expect. For the keener minded of us, _perhaps_ thirty is observation. Most of us wrap ourselves in a comfortable cocoon of artifacts: people, things, and concepts that we understand. It is remarkably difficult to imagine, let alone _see _things outside the shelter we have built for ourselves. Not so long ago in the large scheme of history, people believed the earth was only a few thousand years old."

"So you're saying... nobody ever discovered it, because they weren't _looking_," Arthur drew out the word with a hint of sarcasm.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Sellers agreed with an approving nod. Arthur's expression remained skeptical. "Make of it what you will. There is no other explanation. Magic users took care to hide their craft in the last several centuries, but the record still shows it." Sellers regarded his student with a thoughtful expression then held out his hand again for Arthur's paper. "Let me see what sources you decided to work with. You're a good student. I'm sure your paper will be fine." Arthur suppressed a sigh and straightened up, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders again.

"Thank you, professor," he allowed a bit reluctantly and handed over the paper.

"Keep it in mind, Arthur," the professor added mildly. "You would be exceedingly foolish to believe that you know everything about your world today." The tone of his voice puzzled Arthur. He stopped and turned back in the doorway.

"Why not? You always tell the class that there's nothing new under the sun," he said.

"There isn't; there are only new concepts and new discoveries to be made. Like magic. The Pure were just a handful of the many sorcerers living among us. There are many others who remain hidden."

"Like yourself," Arthur blurted. He closed his mouth and tensed. Sellers raised his head and his eyes locked on Arthur. And then to Arthur's amazement, the skin around his eyes creased in fine lines of amusement… and he _laughed_.

"Found an easy way out of taking my final exam, have you, Pendragon?" There was no molten gold sheen of magic in his eyes; no fear; no surprise. Only the poignant change of address. No longer Arthur. He was a Pendragon. Iseldir Sellers held his gaze, and tension crackled in the air between them. The question rose unbidden to Arthur's mind. _What will you do, Arthur Pendragon? Ruin another person's life, as you did Brigid Fyr's? _

"No sir. I'm not worried about passing your exam." If he was surprised, Sellers didn't show it.

"Good. I'll see you on Tuesday then." His smile returned. "Get some rest, Arthur. You look like you need it."

Arthur wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment. The cool air outside still did little to sooth his aching head. At this point, he wouldn't even have cared if Uther came storming into his flat threat with threats to disown him. Just as long as he got some sleep…

* * *

Merlin drummed his fingers on the screen of his mobile. It was growing late, and the setting sun's thin rays gleamed off the surface of the puddles at Merlin's feet.

_Everything alright? _he wrote, stopping to lean his knee against a short brick wall at the end of the row of apartments.

_Yep. Sorry, almost there. Got off work late. Where are we going? _Merlin grinned and answered the text:

_No hurry. It's just a 10 min walk. You'll like it. _He sat down on the wall beside him as the minutes dragged by and wondered what exactly Freya's idea of 'almost' was.

He'd left Lance and Gwaine in the coffee shop across from campus, chatting over their mugs like two old friends. In the interest of peace for all parties involved, he and Arthur had sought a temporary home for their extra flatmate, and the serious-minded medical student had hit it off remarkably well with their lackadaisical ally of the previous week. But since he left the café, Merlin's thoughts had scarcely touched on Gwaine, or even Arthur's poor humor. Each time he saw Freya, he grew certain that there was something much more twisted going on than he'd at first suspected. The day before, when he'd come looking for Freya, he'd seen Halig—for a name was all he'd wrung out of his inquiries—leaving her flat.

"How did you get involved with him?" Freya always kept her eyes on the ground when he talked about Halig.

"He's not my boyfriend," she'd answered miserably. And that shot Merlin's last theory. This was more than an abusive ex or present boyfriend. He knew something, and Merlin had to tread carefully… because Freya was afraid, and he wasn't going to make things worse for her. She'd been quiet for a long moment before adding, "Sometimes you can't trust people."

Merlin was patient, though, and he hoped she would feel that she could trust him if he let her talk in her own time. She needed help, and he wasn't about to give up. Until he understood what Halig held over Freya, he could keep her out of the man's way as much as possible. And he knew a spot Freya would like…

"_My home was next to a lake. In the summer, the wild flowers grew on the hills around it, and you could see so many colors reflected on the water when the sun set… It was like heaven."_ He wondered if the rivers around Oxford looked anything like the ones Freya told him about near her home in Sweden. And what had driven her to England… Perhaps she had a story to tell, like Gwaine, if he only waited until she worked up the courage to tell it.

Merlin looked up from his phone and tilted his head. The sunlight was half hidden behind the buildings, so he couldn't make out any figures, but he heard hurried sounds of feet scuffing against he pavement, then a muffled cry. His heart leapt into his throat.

"Freya?" He slipped his shoulder out from under the bag he'd brought and sprinted towards the noise. "Freya!" The shadows were long, and Merlin didn't dare try to light anything within them using magic. He veered into the little gap between two apartment buildings, following the noises of the scuffle. There were only two figures, and he recognized Freya's attacker from the week before by his stocky figure and short-cropped brown hair. He had an arm tight around Freya's waist, pulling her against him and his other hand was fisted in her hair, keeping her from twisting free. Merlin didn't stop to shout a threat or warning. He lunged for the pair, his magic flaring to life in fierce protection, but even as he did so, he felt a flash of realization. It was humming in the air, clear as day; he wasn't the only one with magic here. He could feel it, but he didn't have time to search for the threat. A split second later, the ground spun out of sight, and he was flat on the cement, dizzy and breathless. _What… _Merlin rolled over and hauled himself to his feet. His eyes took a moment to focus, and he turned his head, searching frantically. "F-Freya!" he gasped. She froze like a deer before a hunter, and he locked eyes with her as a molten-gold glow faded away to amber brown. _My god… _Merlin blinked dazedly at her. He'd been lucky. To his left, Halig lay half-slumped against the wall, unmoving.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Freya sounded close to tears. Merlin stepped forward, and she shrank away.

"What happened?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she repeated, her voice rising. "I couldn't tell you, Merlin, I just couldn't. Please don't turn me in. I'll leave. It won't happen again, I swear!" Merlin took another swift step forward and she backed up against the wall, shielding her face with her arm.

"Freya!" Merlin stretched out a hand, conscious of her panic, and his fingers brushed her arm with a light touch. "We have to get out of here," he urged. She shivered, perhaps as much from fear as cold. Her jacket lay somewhere behind them on the ground, torn. Merlin reached past her arm and coaxed her face towards his own. "Freya! It's all right. I'm not going to turn you in." Her downcast eyes flitted up to his face. She shook under his touch. "It's okay. You're okay," he insisted in a soft voice. "Come on. You need to get home." Her eyes locked on him, and he took it as permission. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and steered her around towards the apartment, darting frequent looks over his shoulder for fear that someone had seen. But before he left, he snagged Freya's jacket from the pavement and draped it around her shoulders. He had no idea how badly Freya hurt her assailant, and he didn't dare go back to check. A hunch told him that Halig would never speak against Freya, or against anyone in the future. He looked still—too still. They couldn't afford to leave anything here. He turned his head, and his eyes flickered the faintest shade of golden-yellow as he cleaned away any footsteps they'd left from their wet sneakers.

Freya followed Merlin's lead silently until he ushered her into her apartment and shut the door. She pulled away and sank into the couch, burying her face in shaking hands. Merlin crouched beside her.

"Are you alright?" She nodded. "What did Halig make you do? Did he tell anyone else about you?" She shook her head.

"He made me copy notes when he needed money. Just some pounds… but he wanted me to do other things I didn't know how to do…"

"So no one else knows," Merlin pressed. She shook her head, and he relaxed a little.

"Why are you still here?" Her voice, as weak and broken as she looked, made Merlin's throat tighten. "Why aren't you afraid?"

"I don't see anything to be afraid of," he said. Freya flinched away when he put a hand on her shoulder. "Freya, please... Look at me." The dark haired girl's eyes, wide and fearful, flitted to his face and travelled down to his outstretched hand. Merlin cupped his hand before his mouth, aware that it was trembling, and whispered,

"_Forbærne_." Merlin held up his hand before her eyes and slowly uncurled his fingers. He watched her face and saw the tiny flame reflected in Freya's eyes as it leapt and danced in his palm.

"You..." She reached out to feel the warmth of the flame. Merlin let it flicker out in its oscillating pattern. Her fingers traced the spot in his palm where the flame had been.

"I'm like you," he said. She blinked at him, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

"You're not like me. No one is like me." Her voice shook. "I can't control it. It just... lashes out. I'm dangerous. I hurt people." Merlin's breath caught somewhere in his throat. _Is there something wrong with me? Are they right to be afraid? _

"He hurt you first. You were defending yourself," he said firmly, his jaw setting with determination. In some ways, it changed everything… Freya _was _like him, and it made his insides twist with dizzy excitement. But at the same time, she was still the same girl whose shy smile won him the day he picked her books off the floor in the library—who sat with him on the bench in the park and exchanged tales of home—Sweden and Ireland and all the things they missed, the people they left behind… the girl who surreptitiously stole a strawberry from Merlin's lunch when he wasn't looking and looked so chagrined when he caught her. And how anyone could see her as a monster—as _dangerous_—was beyond Merlin's imagination. "It's not your fault," he said. "I was like that too when I was younger. No one had taught me to control it. But you can learn. I can help you." Freya shook her head again, blinking away tears.

"I can't stay here… I can't. Something will happen again. Someone will find me."

"Then we'll leave. I'll find a better place," Merlin insisted, leaning forward.

"You can't… Merlin, you have a good life here. My life is… I have to keep moving, always looking over my shoulder… people chasing me."

"I don't care. I don't _want _to stay here," Merlin said. "Freya…" He tentatively touched her cheek, turning her face towards his. "You really don't understand how special you are… do you?"

"Merlin…" she shook her head slightly.

"I promised I'd help you," Merlin interrupted stubbornly. Freya lifted her head and blinked at him with pained brown eyes. He turned her face towards his gently and squeezed her hand. "We'll leave the country—go somewhere no one knows us… America maybe. Their bill will pass. I'm sure of it." Freya pulled her hand away from his and shook her head.

"They'll send me back. America and Britain still have an extradition agreement."

"Freya," Merlin's voice acquired an edge of intensity. "You've done no crime. What happened was only self-defense. They won't send you back."

"That won't be the way everyone sees it. America won't destroy good relations with him just to protect me," Freya responded softly.

"Sweden then—or Norway. _They're_ not worried about offending Uther Pendragon. You'll be safer away from Britain anyways. I'll teach you how to control this," Merlin caught her hand again and laced his fingers with hers. "And you can teach me the language, right?" That got a tiny laugh out of her.

"They're not quite the same—Swedish, Norwegian," she said. Merlin shrugged.

"You haven't given me an answer yet," he coaxed with a hopeful smile. Freya lifted her eyes to meet his. She brushed the tears from them with her free hand and returned a small, shaky smile.

"I want that more than anything." Merlin's heart soared, and on a moment's impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Merlin didn't leave, even after the light faded and curfew was long past. Freya still shivered from time to time, and he drew her close, and he waited until he felt her breathing even out before he allowed himself to doze. The sirens wailed some time in the middle of the night. Merlin opened one eye and without moving from his place turned the blind slats down to shut out the lights of the emergency vehicles. Freya stirred, and Merlin let his cheek rest against her hair. He didn't know what sort of investigations the Patroni might start after they found the body, or what struggles Freya might face, but Halig wouldn't trouble her anymore… and he would find a way to protect her. Because Freya deserved it… and because for the first time in so many years, he wasn't afraid of himself… There was no need to hide anything—no need to worry what she might. With her, he could simply be who he was.


	4. A Price to Pay

**AN: Well... I am now doing my best to be... sort of consistent with updates. Hopefully I make a pattern out of this. BUT... in other random news, this week was far and away much better than the last two. My professor accepted my research proposal, which means I actually did some good research this summer! And it also means I will have no life from now until I'm finished with the project. xD BUT most importantly it means I will soon be a published author in academia. :D Happy day for me! **

**But you're not interested in _that _area of my writing career so... here's your next installment. **

**Cheers!  
Sandyy**

* * *

Merlin stirred awake with something soft tickling the inside of his ear. He opened his eyes halfway and ran a hand over his face to brush away the strand of hair. Freya looked as drowsy as he felt, and he could see a faint mark where the fold of his shirt had pressed against her cheek.

"You're still here," she said.

"'Course I am." Merlin smiled at her and pulled her close again. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Dunno. Does it matter?"

"Yeah… I have to go to work."

"Hmm… Call in sick," Merlin said, cinching his arm around her shoulders.

"_Merlin_." Freya gave him a push and tried to squirm out from under his arm.

"Alright, alright," Merlin grinned as he released her and sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Where's my phone?"

"You're sitting on it," Freya laughed as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Merlin in the silent main-room for a moment. Merlin let out a quiet sigh. The silence inexplicably worried him. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but he had a vague sense that something was off. It reminded him of the feeling he got when another source of magic was somewhere near him—like a subconscious warning. But this was a bit different. He had a feeling he was in the wrong place; there was something he was supposed to be doing… _Arthur_… why was his flatmate the first person who sprung to mind, he wondered with a sigh. Admittedly, Arthur wasn't the greatest cook in the world, but he'd surely survived one night without someone to help him. Maybe he'd been too lazy to bother making himself dinner and gone to bed without it… wouldn't do the blond any harm, he reflected…. Or perhaps Arthur had managed to burn the flat down in his absence while trying to use the stove. He smiled. No doubt Arthur would clip him around the ear and give his head a good knuckling for either comment. He got up, stretching his cramped limbs. Half buried between the couch cushions, his mobile chimed a cheerful reminder, and he retrieved it and unlocked the screen.

"Oh no," he breathed. _Morgana! _He suppressed a groan. _That _was probably why he kept thinking about Arthur… Uther was slotted to arrive in half an hour and Morgana shortly after that. It would be too late to tell her not to come now, but if Uther and Morgana ran into each other at the flat, then God help him and Arthur both… Morgana would be _furious_. She might assume that he and Arthur had purposefully set the situation up. He ran one hand through his already tousled hair. _How could I forget to text her last night? _"Freya?" He trailed after her into the kitchen, slinging his coat over his shoulder. "I'm sorry; I have to go. I promised I'd meet a friend for breakfast this morning." Freya paused with the fridge door open and gave him a mock reproachful look.

"And _you_ were trying to make me skive off work," she accused. Merlin grinned sheepishly, but her responding smile soon faded. "You're going right now?" she said. Merlin bit his lip.

"Will you be alright?" he asked anxiously. Her eyes darted down to her feet and she nodded. "I can walk with you to your work first," Merlin offered, thinking of the street and the place just a block from Freya's flat that was probably roped off with yellow police tape now.

"No, it's alright. I'll be fine," she said. She let the fridge door swing shut and reached out to flatten Merlin's unruly hair. He chuckled.

"Don't bother. It's a lost cause." He caught her hand with his own, buried the fingers of his other hand gently in her long, smooth hair, and gave her a kiss. He closed his eyes briefly when her arms wound around his neck and one hand buried itself in his hair again, carding through it. "I'll come back as soon as I can," he murmured when she turned to rest her forehead against his shoulder. She nodded, and for a while the pair stood still, leaning into one another. "You're safe. Remember that. No one knows but me," he said quietly in her ear. "As long as you're safe, you can keep it hidden, yeah?" She nodded against his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek against her hair. "If anything worries you, call me."

Outside, rainwater dripped from every gutter and leaf along the way. Merlin silently blessed it. He'd covered tracks carefully, but if any evidence had been left at the scene of Freya's attack, it would be long washed away now. He passed the scene at a leisurely walk, trying to quash his guilty feeling for leaving her so soon. He typed out a quick warning text and apology to Morgana, telling her to meet him at the same café as last time, and broke into a run once he was well away from Freya's block, just as a fresh drizzle started up. He wiped the rain off his mobile screen and squinted at it. Five till… He still had time to nip into the flat and get his wallet before Uther showed up.

_Or not… _Merlin sighed. It was like Uther to be early. He should've figured. He lingered a few steps from the door, watching the man, then approached.

"Morning," he greeted as levelly as possible, pulling out his key. Uther's brows were drawn together. Merlin recognized a gathering storm when he saw it.

"Where's Arthur?" he demanded. Merlin shrugged.

"Don't know. Maybe he went to the shooting range early." His key didn't turn in the door-lock. Merlin frowned, but he did his best to make it appear that he was still unlocking the apartment door. Uther didn't need another reason to criticize his son this morning. He pushed the door open and nudged a pair of trainers out of his way as he stepped inside.

"Arthur?" There was no answer. Merlin rolled his eyes. In the main room, a couple stray items of clothing were strewn over the couch and floor, and Arthur's wallet was balanced on a windowsill of all places. Dishes were piled in the sink, a bag of grapes sat open on the counter, a used frying pan with food caked on perched atop the stove, and a few crushed crisps lay scattered across the linoleum. Surely Arthur didn't expect _him _to clean up the mess before Uther showed up just so he could head off to his hobby in the morning? He tossed his keys onto the counter and let Uther shut the door behind them.

"Hang on. I'll look for him." _You left the door unlocked again, _he texted to Arthur as he headed down the hall. It was a little too late to salvage the mess that was their flat right now. Uther would just have to cope with it. Merlin didn't take his shoes off but headed straight for his own bedroom to grab his wallet. He'd figure out where his idiot flatmate had gotten off to, then he and Morgana could go somewhere and grab a coffee, and they could talk in a quiet, secluded place. And perhaps… he could put off telling her until a better time when they would have the apartment to himself. Talking too much about magic in a public place still unnerved him. He was halfway down the hall when a mobile phone chime stopped him. He looked sideways at the bedroom door to his left.

"Arthur?" No answer. _Did you go to the range this morning? _he wrote. He stood still in the hall for a moment, and sure enough a phone chimed again inside Arthur's bedroom. He frowned. Arthur never left his mobile behind. He nudged the door open with his foot and peered inside, and sure enough a heap of blankets lay on the bed, rising and falling in a steady pattern. The room was pitch black save for the crack of light from the door. Blinds were drawn, and even the laptop's charger light was obscured under a pillow. "Arthur, your father's here," Merlin said, edging through the door.

"Hmmm," was all the response he got from his flatmate. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Look, he's already pissed that you didn't answer the door. I wouldn't suggest keeping him waiting." He flicked the light switch. The covers instantly rustled, and Arthur's blond head disappeared under them.

"_No_. Turn'toff." It was more of an incoherent groan than words. Merlin frowned and shut it off again. Arthur had been dragging all week, and he'd looked pretty wretched the day before, but he'd assumed his friend was just overwrought with his class load and finishing his term project.

"Not feeling any better then?" The covers didn't retreat from over Arthur's face, so Merlin edged a step closer and he started when Arthur rolled over abruptly and fumbled for something at the edge of the bed. _Oh… _Merlin's eyes, adjusting to the dark, discerned the dark shape of a bin near Arthur's clumsily grasping fingers. He lifted it where Arthur could reach and held it. He grimaced sympathetically, glad for the moment that he'd left the door only cracked.

"Finished?" he asked after a moment. Arthur nodded, and Merlin set the bin down and helped him lie back again. Even through Arthur's shirt he could feel the man's skin burning, but more than anything he was unnerved by the fact that Arthur hadn't even brought anything up. "How long has this been going on?" he pressed. Arthur shrugged, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

"S'fine… it'll go away."

"After you've coughed up half your stomach lining," Merlin said a bit harshly. "It's not fine, Arthur. Why didn't you call someone?" Arthur didn't seem to be paying attention though. His eyes were half closed and no longer focused on his flatmate.

"Merlin. Need t-to… tell Professor Sellers… tell him 'm sorry."

"It's alright. You turned in your paper yesterday," Merlin assured him. He put a hand on Arthur's forehead, trying to gauge his fever and bit his lip.

"I said I'd be there. Said I would. He'll think—"

"Be where?" Merlin blinked at him.

"Final… I missed the final."

"Arthur, it's Saturday. You haven't missed anything." Merlin withdrew his hand with a sinking heart. His fingertips were tingling. This was wrong… he could sense the same vague feeling he'd gotten the night before, from Freya. _No_… it couldn't be… Arthur was sick. Just sick. That was all. "Have you eaten anything?" he asked. Arthur gave muffled negative. "Have you been drinking water?"

"Not thirsty," Arthur mumbled. Merlin sighed.

"Hang on. I'll be right back." He backed out of the room as quietly as he could and stopped just outside, bracing himself. took a long breath, bracing himself. He tried as much as possible to look straight-faced as he returned to the main room to face Uther Pendragon.

"He's still here," Uther said. It was no question. Merlin gritted his teeth.

"Arthur's sick. I think he needs help." He grabbed the first glass off the counter that he saw and filled it.

"He said nothing of the sort to me." Uther scrutinized him with one of those expressions that Merlin disliked so much—as if Merlin had ever at some point given him a reason to be suspicious. Merlin lifted his shoulders, trying not to snap in response.

"I don't think he's in any shape to talk."

"I'll be the judge of that." Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Uther was already heading for the hall. The warlock clenched his teeth angrily and followed with the glass of water.

"Arthur?" Uther both pushed the door wide open and turned the light on, making Arthur cringe in the glare and Merlin wince sympathetically on his behalf. Merlin stepped past him and coaxed Arthur into a sitting position.

"Here. You need to drink." He ignored Arthur's halfhearted mumble of protest and wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders for support. "Drink," he repeated and pressed the glass of water into Arthur's hand. Arthur took a small sip and rested the glass on his knee, as if it were too heavy to hold up.

"You have to tell him," he said.

"Arthur you haven't missed the exam. I promise," Merlin insisted firmly. It couldn't be a good sign that Arthur had completely lost his sense of time. Arthur was shaking his head, and he caught at Merlin's sleeve with a fumbling hand.

"Just tell him. Please."

"Where was he last night?" Uther interrupted. Merlin glanced up in shock and outrage.

"He was here, with me," he said.

"Is that what he told you to say?" Uther asked coldly. For a second, it reminded Merlin so much of Morgana that he was shocked. Why… why did Arthur's own father and adopted sister seem so ready to assume the worst of him when all he'd ever tried to do was keep peace with them? He clenched his teeth and gingerly eased the barely touched glass of water from Arthur's hands.

"He's _not _hung over. I know what that looks like. But don't worry. I made sure to have him do a breath test when he came back from turning in his term paper." He emphasized the last few words with biting sarcasm. Uther's expression darkened, and Merlin wondered for the briefest of moments whether he'd gone too far. He breathed out through his nose. What good was it anyways? This wasn't going to help the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur tense. He wondered whether his friend was even paying attention to the conversation, wretched as he was. Arthur nearly pitched forward trying to reach for the bin again, and Merlin quickly braced an arm around his shoulders and fetched it for him. "Arthur, you need to keep that water down," he said in a low voice. Arthur only leaned his forehead against the edge of the bin and shivered. He squeezed his friend's shoulder and straightened up. He should've kept his mouth shut. This wasn't the time to pick a battle with the most stubborn man in Britain. "It doesn't matter anyway. He's sick. He needs help," he said, forcing himself to keep a calm tone. He ignored Uther's hesitation, desperate to get Arthur somewhere with proper help and care. If Uther was going to be an arse about this, he would call an ambulance, but he guessed that the man would help, however grudgingly. Arthur had leaned back against the wall now and closed his eyes. He opened them again when Merlin shook him. "We're taking you to the hospital, alright? Can you get up? There's a car waiting for you." He didn't ask; Arthur looked even paler at the mention of a car, but he nodded feebly, and Merlin helped him to his feet. A hand took the bin from Arthur's grasp, and Uther wordlessly came to Arthur's side, taking his other arm.

"It's not far, Arthur." His voice was, surprisingly, quiet and soothing. "We'll get you help. It'll be over soon," he promised. Arthur gave the tiniest of nods and leaned into their support as they steered him slowly out to the car.

* * *

The rain was pouring down in sheets again, just as it had every day for the past week. Merlin stepped outside and leaned against the wall of the hospital, closing his eyes. It was barely even ten, and he already felt utterly exhausted, stretched too thin to think straight for anyone. Gwaine had been texting him about something he left behind at the flat, Freya's dilemma still lingered at the back of his overtaxed mind, and the overwhelming sense of _wrongness _that he got from Arthur only grew with every minute. He pulled his mobile out and answered what was probably the third call from Morgana, taking a breath before he put it to his ear.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said heavily.

"Merlin, where are you? I've been waiting here for half an hour. There's something you need to see." She sounded urgent. It made Merlin dizzy just to think about the whole problem of Morgana's associations. He wasn't sure he wanted to know whatever it was right now.

"I'm sorry. I meant to call you, but things got really out of hand this morning. Uther was at the flat, and Arthur's really sick. He's just been admitted to hospital."

"What?" Morgana's voice rose half an octave. "Is he alright?" There was a painful moment of silence. Merlin swallowed. Arthur was plainly dehydrated, running a high fever, and the soreness, light sensitivity, and headache all pointed to something akin to meningitis; that was the diagnosis so far. But it was wrong. Merlin was as certain of that as if Gaius had told him. He wanted to ignore it, but the presence of a foreign sorcery was more apparent every time he'd been near Arthur since returning to the flat, and far stronger than what he'd sensed in Freya. The hospital would find out soon enough that their treatments weren't helping… then they'd try something else that wouldn't help. Merlin took a breath.

"He'll be fine," he lied. He heard a quiet exhale on the other end of the line. "Look. I'm really sorry. I have to go. The doctors think Arthur's got meningitis, so I need to talk with Gwen, Lance, and Gwaine since they've been around him. They all need to pick up their course of antibiotics, just in case."

"It's fine. Don't apologize," Morgana answered quickly. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help... and could you call tomorrow if…"

"I'll tell you if anything happens," Merlin promised.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"Sure. I'll talk to you later." Merlin ended the call and dialed in another number hurriedly. He had no answers or cures for whatever was going on with Arthur. So he'd have to start with someone who might… but he had to leave a message before he went anywhere. The guilt gnawed at his insides as he stood beneath the shelter at the door to the hospital. He had to do this now—had to find a way to help Arthur… but the thought of leaving Freya for so long made him feel sick with worry. Freya didn't answer. Merlin rested his head against the bricks and waited for the tone. "Hey, Freya. I'm sorry I won't be back as soon as I'd planned. Arthur's sick, and I had to take him to the hospital. I don't know how long I'll be out, but I'll give you a call as soon as I'm coming back. You can still call if you need anything, though. Let me know if you… run into any trouble at work, alright? Take care." He ended the message and stood with his eyes shut, listening to the patter of the rain. He breathed in slowly, inhaling the fresh, cool smell of the rain, and pushed himself off the wall, setting his jaw in a determined expression. It was time to visit an old friend.

The dark tunnel was just as Merlin remembered it, even the chill familiar as he picked his way down the slope. He trod carefully on the high side to avoid sloshing through the rainwater that flowed alongside him, illuminating the way with the pale blue orb he hadn't lit since he last visited the dark place. During his time in Gaius' home and his earlier terms at college in Camelot, he'd talked often with the dragon, and sometimes he'd wondered about the creature's tales of destiny and whether there was some truth to them. After all, how else could the dragon even know of Arthur's birth, locked here under the ground? If nothing else, the dragon was still a creature of powerful magic, and like Morgana with her prophetic dreams, he too might see things with the mind's eye, even things of the future.

Such curiosities had long drifted out of Merlin's thoughts, driven away by his studies and the rocky politics of the world above, and he'd rarely had a moment to think of the dragon, let alone make the journey down to see him. At the moment it seemed like his only option. The book Gaius gave him had no healing spells in it, but the dragon had seen many generations of sorcerers. He would know something. How he would take the visit was another matter. Merlin didn't know what the dragon might say, if he would _want _to help, or even if he _could _help, unable to get to Arthur himself… but after all his talk about the prophecy, about bringing peace between the peoples of England… surely he would want to save Arthur Pendragon's life.

Years of waiting no doubt made keen ears. The cave was not empty when Merlin set foot in it, and its occupant was wide awake. A pair of golden orbs turned slowly to fix on Merlin when he stepped into the open, and Merlin held his breath.

"It has been a long time, Merlin." Merlin bowed his head. He had no time for formalities.

"I know… I'm sorry. I need your help," he said. The great head shifted, and chains scraped harshly against the ground as he sat up to tower over Merlin. There was a look on his face which resembled that of a smug, contented cat as he stretched out his wings out to their full span and arched his back. When he spoke, his low voice rumbled through the cave, at once a challenge and a warning.

"Nothing comes without a price, young warlock."

* * *

**AN2: Any ideas on what that price is...?**


	5. Miracles

**AN: GUYS! It's a new post just five days after my last one. :O It's a miracle! I know, I know... very punny. :P I****t's past midnight... don't mind me. ^^ Buuuut, ****I'm hoping to update once a week, at least until the summer ends. Or until GRE study and my thesis advisor get after me for being delinquent! **

**SO, enjoy the chapter, and please do leave a review! And expect a chapter before the 27th!  
**

**Cheers!  
~Sandyy**

* * *

Merlin Astur was not the first person Lancelot had ever stopped to help at the scene of an accident, though he'd rarely been there to witness said accident. He'd managed to haul Merlin out of the road before he met the same unfortunate end as his bicycle, and once the younger student was composed enough to attempt walking, Lance helped him back to his flat, limping heavily. He had stayed to see Merlin's ankle wrapped neatly and settle the younger man on his couch with the injured foot elevated.

He hadn't expected to see the dark haired young man again after the incident, but Merlin didn't forget. He'd kept up cheerful conversation with the pre-med student while his injured ankle was being wrapped and sought him out later. Lance had become fast friends with the amiable young student of history, and through Merlin's uncle, Gaius Wilson, Lance had been put in touch with several doctors he could shadow to gather experience for his resume and medical school application.

So in a roundabout sort of way, Merlin was the reason that Lancelot stood where he was today, notebook tucked under his arm as he stood, listening to Arthur's diagnosis. He kept half a step behind the doctor he was shadowing—Doctor Collins—out of the way of Uther Pendragon's pacing. The politician hadn't left Arthur's side since arriving at the hospital, although his attention was less than helpful under the circumstances.

"I was promised he would receive the best care here." Uther's tone was sharp, angry. "Perhaps I should have Gaius take over the case."

"Uther, Doctor Collins and I attended medical school together. I have complete faith in her. Arthur is receiving the best care available," Gaius interrupted quietly, inclining his head to Lance's mentor. Doctor Collins, a long time friend of Uther's personal physician, was a short, middle-aged woman with keen grayish eyes like Gaius, long blond hair sprinkled with stray silver hairs, and an even temperament. She displayed an abundance of patience for the difficult man, no doubt born of years negotiating with family and friends of intensive care patients, but Collins was equally as straightforward and blunt as she was understanding.

"The antibiotics need some time to kick into his system before we will see significant change," she explained. "His condition is stable for the moment…" Stable might be a touch optimistic. Lance shifted his attention past Uther to look at the prime minister's son. Arthur had been in poor shape when he arrived, desperately in need of fluids and running a fever so high that he was delirious. He'd improved after the doctors administered antibiotics for what they assumed was a bacterial infection and Paracetamol to reduce the pain and fever. By the time Lance arrived in the evening to shadow Doctor Collins in the intensive care unit, Arthur's condition had deteriorated again. Shortly after mid-day, his oxygen saturation plummeted dramatically, forcing them to administer oxygen to prevent any damage to essential organs. The clear oxygen tube was only one of several running from the bed to the myriad of machines around it. It was strange to see Arthur like this now, his hand decorated with a hospital bracelet and bright plastic IV line and a thin oxygen cannula across his face, his chest rising and falling with tiny, shallow breaths aided by the airflow from the tank. When the Lance passed Merlin and Arthur's apartments on his way catch a bus to the medical campus, he was accustomed to seeing Arthur there—one of the few people awake as early as Lance—lacing his brightly colored trainers for a morning jog. It would be weeks before Arthur would be in any shape to go running again… assuming he didn't deteriorate any further in the next couple of days. Lance knew how cases like this usually progressed. It was rare that patients recovering from meningitis left the hospital without some lasting damage, especially those as far advanced as Arthur already was.

"You're Lance, aren't you?" Lance looked up, surprised to be addressed. He'd lost the thread of conversation between Collins and Uther Pendragon, but this voice was closer to his ear and didn't sound like his mentor. A woman with piercing eyes and raven black hair stood beside him, inspecting him with her sharp look. Lance looked back at her in undisguised surprise. There was only one person other than Uther who would be allowed in for a visit at the intensive care unit.

"And you must be Morgana," he replied. This day was simply full of surprises. From what Gwen had told him, Lance hadn't expected to see Morgana Cornwall anywhere in the same two-mile radius as Uther Pendragon. She inclined her head gracefully. "Are the others still waiting downstairs?" he couldn't help asking, his brow furrowing with concern.

"I said I'd let them know how Arthur was doing," Morgana said, confirming his question with a nod. Her gaze strayed to the hospital bed. "May I sit with him?"

"As long as you move back if any alarms start," Lance said. She smiled gratefully at him and swept past the doctor and Uther, ignoring her guardian's presence, despite the surprised look that followed her to Arthur's bedside. Lance watched in silence while she pulled up a chair, careful not to bump the bed, and slowly put her hand over Arthur's: a light, unobtrusive touch.

"Arthur?" His eyes fluttered open halfway and focused on her face.

"Morgana," he breathed. This time at least, he seemed to recognize his visitor. A faint spark returned to his pain-dulled blue eyes. "Am I… dying?" The question surprised Lance, and apparently the addressee as well. Her eyes narrowed.

"Of course you're not dying, Arthur. Don't be such a wimp." Her voice didn't sound quite as confident as her words, and the tips of her fingers curled around his hand.

"Ah…" His eyes flickered shut briefly and sought out her face again. "Thought… that's why you came to visit."

"Nope. Just came to annoy you," Morgana said firmly.

"You mean… you'd be nice to me if I _was_ dying?" Arthur managed in a breathless voice. Morgana scoffed.

"Oh no. I'll always be there to annoy you, Arthur Pendragon. Even on your deathbed," she promised, a gentle lilt of mock-solemnity in her voice. A weak smile tugged at Arthur's lips. His hand shifted under hers, though he seemed to have not even the strength to lift it.

"Wow… Thanks, Morgana. I'm touched," he murmured. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth turned down in a grimace, and Morgana gently slid her hand under his and squeezed. Lance looked away. Shadowing in the intensive care ward, he often felt as though he was privy to conversations not meant for his ears, but it was all the stranger for the fact that Arthur was a friend. It seemed somehow wrong to be listening.

Uther's voice had gone silent several seconds ago. Lance backed away from the hospital bed and moved closer to his mentor. He was meant to stay out of the way—to watch and not get involved—and he knew that was all he could do for Arthur right now: not get in the way of his treatment. But it was difficult to watch, more than he would have imagined. Uther had stopped pacing and turned his eyes on Doctor Collins again, clasping his hands behind his back.

"What are you saying?" His voice had dropped considerably, and the steel was gone from his light gray eyes. The tone sent a jolt of cold fear through Lance's insides. He hadn't heard what Collins said the second before… and he realized with a sickening feeling that he'd missed something gravely important.

"Your son is in a lot of pain," said Collins, her voice low, mainly meant for Uther's ears, though Lance saw Morgana perk up and direct her attention towards them. "And the Paracetamol is not doing an effective job. We're going to use some stronger drugs to sedate him and spare him the suffering until we can bring his fever down. If you want a chance to speak with your son before we put him under, I suggest you do so now before the worst of the pain returns."

"Do what you need to. I will speak with him when he's feeling better," Uther replied.

"Mr. Pendragon, I can't promise that you will have another chance to speak with him."

There was a moment of silence which seemed to stretch into hours. A ball of ice settled in Lance's chest. He clutched his notebook tighter and felt the spiral binding dig into his hand.

"There…" Uther's eyes darted from Wilson to Collins. "No, there must be something you can do. Any treatment you have, I will willingly pay for it."

"Uther," Gaius' voice was soft. "This is not a matter of treatment or cost… If it had been caught sooner, perhaps there would have been more we could do. For now, we can only wait and see."

"I'm sorry," Collins said quietly.

"No. No, he's my son. My only son. He can't…" Uther fumbled for the wall with one hand, but when Gaius tried to offer support, he brushed it off and stepped past the two doctors. Lance had heard many less than kind things about Uther from Gwen, but he still felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Uther's eyes were locked on the two children he'd raised, there amidst the forest of medical machinery—one who had turned her back on him and the other dying. His family was crumbling before his very eyes. As if to emphasize the poignancy of the situation, Morgana, upon noting his attention, rose from her place on the other side of the bed and backed away. Uther straightened up, pale, with a haunted expression in his eyes. "Morgana?" She turned away, her expression hard and cold, and before he could say anything further, she turned and stalked from the room. Lance watched her until she was out of sight, swallowing over the tight feeling in his throat. A hand lit on his shoulder.

"Lance." Doctor Collins said quietly. "Go talk to your friends. You can catch up with me in half an hour." He didn't need telling twice.

"Thank you," he whispered, and before he could catch any more of Uther's broken words as he turned to Gaius, Lance hurried out the door after Morgana.

Gwen was sitting in an aged looking leather chair, watching the rivulets of water run down the window beside her. Her head turned and she sprang up when Morgana and Lance arrived together, eyes wide with evident distress.

"Have you seen him?"

"Gwen—" Morgana's voice shook the tiniest bit, and Lance saw Gwen's shoulders drop and her face crumple in dismay.

"Oh no… no." Morgana wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders, and Gwen buried her face against her friend's shoulder. Lance hovered half a foot away with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. This meant so much more to Gwen—to all of the other three—than he could even begin to understand. And of the relationship between Gwen and Arthur, he had only picked up bits and pieces from the three of them, but he knew there was more to it than he'd seen.

Lance had been as surprised as Merlin to see Arthur brush Gwen's concerns off the way he had the day before. Now that he thought of it, though, Arthur had probably been in more pain than he let on at that point. In the past, there had been some sharp words between Arthur and Guinevere—unresolved troubles that both had struggled with in their relationship. Arthur had concerns about publicity and his father's disapproval. Often as not, their disagreements were over Morgana and her burgeoning quarrel with Arthur's father. But for all that, there was never a question in Lance's mind: Arthur loved Gwen. He was always quick to apologize if he felt that he'd hurt her, and anyone could see the look in his eyes when he saw her. Had Lance not seen Arthur as he was around Gwen, he might have thought what everyone else thought of the prime minister's son: that Arthur was confident, arrogant even, and steered by his father's maxims. But there was something about Gwen that drew out a different side of Arthur Pendragon—a more cautious, introspective side. The façade of defensive confidence fell away, and Arthur showed himself an attentive listener and more conflicted than Lance would ever have guessed—a young man wrestling with his father's deeply ingrained worldview in an attempt to understand the changing world around him.

It was the sign of a healthy relationship that the two remained good friends although they were no longer dating. And in the end, Lance found that he couldn't resent it. Arthur was in a position of influence with a lot of pressure on him from many different sources. And it was a rare man indeed who could face his demons—the things he'd been taught to hate and fear all his life—and question the beliefs he'd built his entire world around. Gwen had seen that in Arthur.

Whether or not she loved him… whether or not she had truly moved past whatever relationship and feelings she had for Arthur… she would miss him, and it would hurt that the last words she exchanged with him were in anger. Any words of comfort Lance could offer right now would be as empty and useless as he felt.

"What's happened?" Merlin's voice broke into his thoughts. "Lance, what's going on?" He stood a foot to Lance's right, looking at Gwen and Morgana with deeply troubled blue eyes. Lance looked down.

"Merlin, you know I can't tell you anything about patients—"

"Morgana's going to tell me in a moment anyways," Merlin interrupted sharply. "It won't matter. _Please_, Lance… I need to know." Lance hesitated. Morgana's face was buried against Gwen's shoulder. He couldn't be sure whether she was crying. Gwen certainly was. Merlin though… He'd only stopped pacing when Lance and Morgana appeared, and even now as he stood still, his fingers tugged at the ends of his worn red scarf, an age old nervous habit that he had.

"They've… decided to sedate him so he won't be in pain," he admitted at last. "The treatment isn't working. We're hoping to see some improvement in the next couple of hours, but…" Merlin buried his fingers in his hair and turned his back with a shaky intake of breath. "Merlin, I'm sorry…" Lance put a hand on his shoulder and felt the wiry tension under his touch. He'd never seen Merlin so wound up over anything. The younger man sank into a chair by the wall, shaking his head.

"They have to let me in. I have to see him. I have to," he said hoarsely. Lance stole a glance at Gwen and Morgana and sat down quietly beside Merlin. All the things he wanted to say, every assurance he wanted to give, was a lie.

"They're doing everything they can for Arthur," he promised. Empty words when Arthur was slipping away more with each passing minute. And Merlin, head now buried in his hands, knew it. Arthur Pendragon was dying, and no amount of grief—no begging, no expense or treatment could save him.

* * *

It grew dark early as the storm clouds rolled in once more. The rain, which had poured off and on all day, brought with it a turmoil of thunder and lightning, and hospital staff drew a shade across the window, leaving Arthur's room lit only by the pale electric lights. Hospital staff moved with quiet efficiency inside the room, unobtrusive despite the many people within as they navigated around Uther and Gaius at the bedside to deftly change the fluid bag and check the dressings on Arthur's IV site.

"Uther, you've been here all day. Let Morgana stay with him a while," Gaius said. "You need some rest. She is willing to sit up with him tonight." Uther raised his head to look at Doctor Wilson. Some feet behind him, Doctor Collins stood in the doorway, on her last check before the end of her shift. She wouldn't stay much longer. Just as it had been for Lance with Merlin and Gwen, there was nothing more she could do for Arthur or his jaded father. Arthur's prognosis would not reassure him.

"Have you given up on him too?" There was a resigned bitterness in Uther's voice.

"He's not yet gone," Gaius replied.

"But he will not recover," said Uther. Gaius bowed his head and stepped aside to let the nurse finish adjusting Arthur's tubes.

"Not without a miracle," the physician said at last. Uther's response followed quick after his words.

"I don't believe in miracles." Lance wasn't sure he did either. He wished he could. Gaius knew a lost cause when he saw it. His hand rested briefly on Uther's shoulder before he left the room to consult with his colleague. Lance lingered by the door a couple of seconds and watched the thin green line on Arthur's heart monitor peak and dip, peak and dip, rising and falling irregularly as his heart struggled to support his failing system.

"Lance." At Collins' voice he tore his gaze away. Gaius was gone already down the hallway, as if on some urgent errand. But Collins paused to let Lance catch up with her in a few strides. "He's a good friend of yours." Her expression was kindly, as was her voice. Lance nodded, though he recognized that it wasn't really a question. "You did very well," Collins told him softly. Lance took a breath and nodded again, hoping it was enough to convey his gratitude.

"Is there any chance… any at all that he'll recover?" he asked. Collins looked back at the window into the room and shook her head.

"His symptoms are not what we would normally expect of a patient with meningitis. He was treatable when he arrived and should have responded to the antibiotics by now."

"So it's not meningitis?"

"There are no signs to indicate a different disease… If not, then I can't tell you what else it is." Collins sighed heavily. "There's something at work here that neither of us understands." Lance wasn't sure he understood her meaning. He rubbed his thumb on the edges of his notebook pages. "I'm sorry," Collins said at last. Lance nodded mutely again.

"I'll be alright," he said. He wished he could say the same for Gwen, Morgana, and Merlin. They were by far closer to Arthur than he…

"I know you will." Collins put a hand on his arm briefly. "Take care. I'll see you next week."

"Thank you," Lance replied. Collins strode away down the hall, leaving him to look back through the window to Arthur's room where Gaius remained. Uther had shrunk in on himself, left alone in the room now. He sat hunched over in the chair beside the bed where Morgana had been earlier in the day, and his head rested on the cover beside Arthur's shoulder. To all appearances he was asleep, strange as it seemed. Perhaps the emotional stress of the day had finally caught up with him.

Down at the end of the hall opposite Lance, the automatic doors hissed open. Lance shuffled back behind the corner, out of sight, keenly aware that he wasn't supposed to be here without Doctor Collins or another member of the hospital staff. He should have followed her out. But then again… He stopped himself and looked back around the corner fleetingly. Neither was _he_…

_What is he doing? _Lance took half a step forward. He had thought that everyone had gone home by now. It was getting late. But there was no mistaking the lanky figure making its way down the hall with brisk, determined step. Somehow, Merlin Astur had made his way right to the door of Arthur's hospital room, as if he'd known the hospital layout by heart and just what room Arthur was placed in. How, Lance didn't know. He was certain Merlin had never set foot in the intensive care unit before. He stepped out into the hall, tempted to call out and stop Merlin, but the words stuck in his throat. If he spoke now, he might disturb Uther… if Merlin could get in and out of the room without alerting him… he would far rather not get his friend in any trouble for this. So he stood, watching in bewilderment, while Merlin slipped into the room, leaving the door wide open behind him, and stepped to Arthur's bedside.

Merlin's hand looked a touch unsteady as he extended it, his fingertips very nearly brushing the hair atop Uther's head. Uther moved, just enough to tuck his head in the crook of his arm, resting on the pristine hospital cover beside Arthur's shoulder. Apparently satisfied, Merlin drew back and moved to the other side of the bed. _What on earth…. _Lance moved from behind the corner to get a clear view of the man, now that Merlin had his back turned to the door. Part of him grew anxious with every second that passed, waiting for someone to come down the hall and find Merlin here—or him for that matter, both out of place. But Merlin's distress had been almost tangible as he paced down in the lobby. He'd taken Arthur's illness hard, and odds were that this would be the last time he saw his friend. If Merlin was willing to face the possibility of being spotted by hospital staff, Uther, and anyone else… this must be deeply important to him. Lance couldn't take that from him. Merlin lingered by the bedside. Lance came another step closer, keeping half an eye out. He could at least give Merlin a couple extra seconds if anyone else came down the hall.

"I don't give a damn," Merlin's voice broke the silence, startling Lance. "About prophecies or destiny or what any of those bloody media stations say about you. It's all a loud of rubbish… but I was starting to believe in you. You know that?" If the ward hadn't been dead silent save for the quiet beeping of the electronics, Lance might not have heard Merlin's voice, soft as it was. "I've just done something… you wouldn't believe. God…" His voice broke, and Lance heard a choked sob. "This _has_ to work. You have to get better, Arthur. If you don't…" He trailed off with a shaky breath and extended both hands, trembling slightly. He placed them over Arthur's chest palms down. "You hear me, prat? I'm going to give you one more chance, alright? I need you back… everyone needs you back." The dark haired man bowed his head, hands resting over Arthur's heart. _He's gone mad. _The thought crossed Lance's mind seconds before Merlin spoke again, and now his voice rose in a strong, steady cadence. "_Gelácne ádligne lybcræft*_!" Lance froze, transfixed. There was no visible change in the room, nor even in Merlin or Arthur, but he could feel the shift in the air, as if he recognized it by instinct. _My God. _Lance drew in a sharp intake of breath. Merlin was standing mere inches from Uther Pendragon's head… For a while nothing moved. Uther had never once stirred, not even at Merlin's voice. Merlin's hands stayed pressed flat to Arthur's chest. At length, he let them fall to his sides and backed away one step. Then Lance noticed it. Over Merlin's shoulder, the number on the pulse oximeter was slowly creeping up towards a normal and healthy saturation. The green line on the monitor peaked, dipped, peaked, its rhythm smoothed out in regular beats once more. And Arthur _stirred_. He murmured something incomprehensible and shifted his head against the pillow. Merlin let out a tiny, shaky laugh and stepped back from the bed, burying his fingers in his hair. Lance let out a breath, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. Merlin laughed giddily again, spinning around on one heel, and in a split second the ear-to-ear grin vanished, and he blanched paper-white. He backed up a step, and his heels came up against the wheel of the hospital bed. And Lance realized with a jolt: Merlin was looking at _him. _

"It's not… Lance, this isn't what it looks like—"

"Merlin!" Lance interrupted him, holding up his hands in gesture of reassurance. "I know what it was. It's alright." Merlin stayed where he was, his mouth slightly open, staring at Lance. His chest was heaving, as if he were struggling to breathe. "You… you saw me…?"

"I _saw_ you save a man's life," Lance finished for him. "Merlin, that was… it was incredible," he breathed. He'd heard tales of magic being used for great and terrible things—murder, destruction, fire, chaos… but here before him was the living proof of a man who walked among them, modest and quiet with no intent to harm. And all he could think was, what a brilliant world it would be if magic could be used to cure other patients like Arthur—how many more lives could be saved.

"You're… not going to turn me in?" Merlin faltered. Turn him in… Lance almost laughed. Someone would be in to check on Arthur soon enough… and there would be unanswered questions, but none of them mattered. Arthur was going to live, and even Uther wouldn't ask the rhyme and reason for _that_ blessing. No… no one was going to turn Merlin in. Not if he had anything to say about it.

"Merlin, if it's a crime to save a man's life, you may as well report me too." A tentative smile broke across Merlin's face. They couldn't stand here any longer, though. Even now, Lance was aware that it couldn't be long before someone stopped by to check on Arthur's stats. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You look like you could use a stiff drink." Merlin laughed at that.

"I won't argue with that," he said, letting Lance steer him out through the door, although Lance followed his gaze back to the bed and its still occupant. He scanned the numbers on the machines once more, as if to assure himself they hadn't been his imagination. Merlin caught his eye. "He'll be alright," he promised. And Lance believed him. He nudged Merlin forward, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on. My treat." He closed the door noiselessly behind them, muffling the soft sound of the heart monitor, now chiming in tandem with a healthy heartbeat again. It was a shame, he reflected, as he led the way out of the hospital at last, that Uther Pendragon didn't believe in miracles, because at this moment there walked a living, breathing miracle at his side: a man who had just done Uther the greatest favor anyone possibly could. And Uther would never know it.

* * *

**AN2: _*Heal the corrupted magic._  
**_**-There are many words for magic/witchcraft in Old English. Lybcræft specifically refers to skill in the use of drugs, so I felt it was appropriate for this context. If anyone is ever curious bout the Old English I use, feel free to contact me. My knowledge of Old English is all self-taught, but I'm a scholar of ancient languages, and it was fairly straightforward to pick up! -**_

******And also... I would be very curious to hear what you all think of Uther and Morgana in this chapter.**

Reviews would be awesome as always! :D

~Sandyy


	6. Loved and Lost

**AN: Alright, first of all, **** I haven't said this in a while, but for the record... I don't own Merlin.  
**

**And secondly, THIS... was extremely hard to write. You really have no idea... and I'm not sure I like how it turned out entirely. But I promised to update regularly, and so it is 2AM, I finally forced myself to finish it, and I offer it up to you as the week's update!**

Enjoy! And thank you so, so much for your reviews, follows, and faves!

**Cheers! **

**Sandyy**

* * *

Freya regarded the pages of the book propped atop her knees with a slight frown.

"It's blank." She turned puzzled amber eyes on Merlin. His grin widened.

"Exactly. Watch." He slipped the book from her hands and flipped it open again, and he watched her awe-struck expression as the words spread across the page. "It's easy to hide things like this, if you know how." Freya paused with her hand extended towards it and glanced at him.

"Can I…?"

"Yeah, it won't disappear. Just has to be me who opens it," he said, passing the book into Freya's hands. "It's not much… might be the last magic book left in the country for all I know. But I can show you how to do a bunch of the spells. Some of them I think would be useful in teaching you to control it. _And_," He pulled out his phone while Freya turned over the pages of the book and searched a little travel application with a map. "We shouldn't have any trouble getting out of the country." Merlin tapped the little digital map on his mobile emphatically. "As soon as your final exams end, we can go. It'll look like we're off on holiday. We can get to Sweden easily. They're already putting their amnesty laws through. Uther and his government have good relations with Denmark right now, so we can get a flight to Copenhagen, and Denmark doesn't restrict sailing off the coast. We'll take a ferry straight across to Helsingborg." Freya's eyes dropped to the book again.

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" he asked. Freya shook her head.

"Merlin, I told you." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "I'm dangerous. It doesn't matter where I go, I can never stay long. If I'm near people… I hurt them. I'm cursed." Merlin let his phone fall into the grass and shifted closer to Freya.

"It's not a curse."

"Not for you," she murmured. Merlin lifted his shoulders.

"I though it was… once. When I was younger, I used to lose control and do strange things too." He smiled slightly. "I once brought down a tree by accident. It fell on someone's car. Will—my best friend in school… he knew about my magic. He laughed about that for weeks. Never let me forget about it. " Freya smiled slightly, and Merlin was a touch reluctant to press on. "I also threw someone—like you did with Halig. It was a similar situation—a kid at my school. He was hurting me. I was afraid, and it happened in self defense. He was hurt badly enough… he didn't remember what had happened for a week before the incident. I've had magic since I was too little to remember. But my mum was always there to help—to teach me to hide it when I was too small to know better. When yours started appearing, you were older. You were alone. You'd grown up believing it was evil, and you had no one to tell you differently. Of course you're afraid." Merlin cupped his hands together facing up and created a little flame, this time breaking it into half a dozen tiny ones and letting them dance over his palms. "I was afraid of it too at first. I thought some day I'd slip up front of someone else… I'd be killed. And it just happened sometimes, when I was startled or afraid. My mother always told me it was a gift—that I'd find ways to use it well. And when it grew too difficult for me to control, she sent me out here—to Camelot where my uncle lives. So he could help me." He grinned as the dancing flames caught Freya's eye. He used to play games with the fire like this, when he and Hunith were alone in the apartment. They would light several candles, and he would make letters and shapes with the tiny flames for her. It had been years since he'd done that—since he had anyone who watched and smiled. "The problem is," he continued, "That you _view_ magic as a curse… and that you're afraid of it. The truth is, it's part of you. That's why it reacts to protect you when someone threatens. You have to accept it and learn to manage it, like you do your body and your emotions. It's difficult, but you can do it."

"Your magic is different from mine," Freya said softly, still watching the flames dance before her. Merlin dropped his hands and let the lights vanish, and he leaned forward to look her in the eye.

"The only difference between your magic and mine is what you believe about it," he insisted. "You're a beautiful person. Your magic is beautiful too. You just have to make it your own." Freya clasped her hands in front of her knees.

"I wish I _could_ believe that about myself," she said.

"I'll keep telling you until you do." Merlin slipped an arm around her back, and she leaned against him. "You haven't had any trouble—police or Patroni or anything?" She shook her head.

"I should have." Merlin only caught the words because her head was rested so close to his ear He frowned. "It's still my fault that he's dead. You never did _that_ with your magic."

"No, but no one ever tried to take from me what he wanted from you." Merlin's voice hardened. "Don't think I don't know what he was trying to do." As if he hadn't seen the lust in the sick man's eyes. He gritted his teeth angrily. Halig was gone. He shouldn't still have a hold over Freya, but she couldn't seem to let this go. "Come on. What do you think?" he asked after a minute of silence. "Sweden. I can get the money for a couple of tickets by tomorrow, and we'll be out of this country by the end of the month."

"Merlin…" Freya tilted her head back to look at him. "What about your friend?"

"Arthur? Oh, he's fine now. He's coming home this afternoon. I'll have to go soon to get a few things sorted and help bring him back."

"He's better now?" The small smile playing across her face reached her eyes this time. Merlin nodded.

"Yep. And bored out of his mind in his hospital room. He's been terrible company since he woke up."

"_Merlin_, you can't blame him for that!" Freya chided, laughing. Merlin grinned, and she gave him a shove but turned to lean her head against his shoulder again. "I'm glad he's alright. I like him. He talked to me a couple times in one of my classes. He's very kind… I wouldn't have thought Uther Pendragon's son would be at all like he is."

"No one does," Merlin agreed, looking at her from the corner of his eye. She'd mentioned a class she shared with Arthur before. And he was fairly sure he knew which one. He could hardly forget about it after Arthur had worried over it so much when he was sick. "That's Professor Sellers' class, right?" he said thoughtfully. She looked away at the mention. Merlin tilted his head down to look at her again. "That's the one on the recent civil war, right?" he probed, puzzled by her reaction. "I thought that class would be a bunch of anti-magic propaganda."

"Not really. Sellers addressed it very factually," said Freya.

"You mean he didn't demonize us?" Merlin smiled. "I wonder if Uther knew his son was taking a neutral class about magic."

"I'm sure Arthur wouldn't tell him about it," Freya mused. "I think he must've liked that class. He's one of Sellers' favorite students—always stopped after class to ask questions."

"Hmm." Merlin pursed his lips. Arthur had certainly kept all this information to himself. He turned to look at her again. "You never answered my question."

"What?" She blinked at him, and he huffed at her expression of feigned ignorance.

"You know what I mean. Sweden." Freya lowered her eyes.

"I don't want you to leave everything here just for me," she said.

"Hey." Merlin drew back to look at her. "We've been over that. This is what I want to do. That's not the question anymore. The question is, do _you _want to go?"

"I don't think it matters. What I want never happens," she murmured.

"It does today," Merlin insisted. "So… what do you say?" She looked down at her hands clasped tightly together, and nodded. The smile returned to Merlin's face."Then that's what we'll do." Merlin stretched out on the grass and tugged gently at her sleeve. She smiled and laid back beside him, with Merlin's book resting over her chest, one finger tucked between two pages as if she was marking her spot. There was a subdued expression in her eyes that worried Merlin a little. She was guarded and still unhappy. Perhaps, Merlin reflected, the guilt would fade with time. She would understand what had happened better as she learned to control her magic. He didn't know how to help her right now. Outside a tiny laugh or fleeting smile Merlin could coax from her, she'd been quiet and withdrawn the last couple of days. So he did the only thing he could do for her and drew her close, enjoying the peace of the morning in quiet companionship. At least now everything seemed to be falling into place. He would have a chance to talk with Morgana later—tell her about his magic, before he and Freya left the country. Arthur was being released from the hospital in the afternoon. Arthur was getting back on his feet now. He was being released from the hospital this afternoon, while Freya would be at work. He would be fine. For now, he had only half an hour with Freya. But this was temporary. He didn't know how they would start again, but he knew they would find a way. The only thing that remained was to sort out travel plans and tickets. Then he would have all the time in the world to help her… and they would be somewhere safe. Somewhere that perhaps they could one day practice their magic freely.

* * *

Arthur leaned against the car to rest for a moment. It had taken an eternity for the hospital to release him—almost until 4PM—and he felt a little drained from the poking, prodding, and countless assessments they'd done before finally letting him leave with his father, Leon, and Merlin hovering about him at every step.

"So… How did your finals go?" He caught Merlin's eye over the top of the car and mouthed '_one minute'_. He didn't need his father interrupting this conversation. Merlin nodded and vanished round the corner.

"Don't even _talk _to me about finals, you lazy arse." Morgana's voice responded through the little earpiece. Arthur chuckled. "How are you feeling?" she added.

"Better," Arthur said. "They finally let me go back to the flat. Leon's being assigned to me again though… I guess he'll be checking in or something."

"Can't say that's entirely a bad idea. You attract more trouble than anyone else I know." There was a smile in Morgana's voice. It was good to hear. Arthur hadn't talked to her in so long, he almost ached to think of it.

"I try," he said tolerantly, smiling as well. "Morgana," he paused but pressed on hurriedly. If he didn't say it now, he was half afraid he never would. "Thanks… for coming to sit with me… and I'm sorry about the last semester. I know it's been a while since we talked last."

"You can say that again," Morgana replied. Arthur rolled his eyes a little.

"Alright, no need to rub it in. You won't get a second apology." A soft huff from the other end of the line, though she didn't say anything in reply. "Will I see you over the holidays?"

"I'm not staying in Camelot over the summer if that's what you mean," she said, her voice slightly edged. Arthur sighed. He knew better than to push Morgana. She was equally as stubborn as his father and would clam up in a second if he emphasized the matter. And perhaps she was right; keeping some distance between her and Uther might be wise.

"You should come and visit when you finish your exams," he suggested. "I know Merlin and Gwen would like to see you too."

"Arthur, you idiot. I've been up there to see them loads of times. You're the one who missed me."

"I know, I know," Arthur said. "I'll be there this time. I promise."

"Of course I'll come." she huffed.

"It was good to see you."

"I'd say the same, but honestly, you looked pretty terrible," returned Morgana's voice.

"Thanks," Arthur returned dryly.

"I'm glad you're alright." Arthur closed his eyes. It had been one hell of a weekend… And around the corner, several voices were gathering. He couldn't stay here much longer before people started fretting over him again. He straightened up.

"Yeah… me too. Look, I've got to go, but I'll call you back."

"Take care, Arthur," Morgana said.

"You too. Talk to you later." He ended the call and lingered before he stepped out from around the corner. Merlin was nowhere in sight, nor were Gwen and Leon, but Uther was standing in the doorway and glanced up from his mobile.

"Arthur." The last few days had left their mark on him, even through the politician's façade he always wore. Dark circles still showed beneath his eyes, and he wore a drawn, weary expression. It reminded Arthur each time he saw his father of just how grave things had been, and it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle uneasily. Everyone said he'd been very ill, but anything that could rattle his father was serious indeed. "I will speak with your instructors before I leave" Uther told him briskly. "Your exams will be rescheduled for next week, once you've had time to relax and recover." Arthur's eyes widened. His instructors…

"I already talked to Professor Sellers," he said quickly. Uther frowned at him, and he silently cursed his own stupidity. Of course he hadn't. He'd only just gotten out of the hospital. "I mean… asked Merlin to talk to him." Arthur clasped his wrist with his free hand and rubbed a thumb over the dark bruise that had formed there from the IV and studied his shoes. Uther had scarcely left his side over the last several days. He remembered his father at his bedside when he'd been scarcely conscious, and later walking beside him when he was moved out of the ICU into a regular room. Even then Uther had rarely left the hospital for more than half an hour. And yet, in repayment he was standing here before his father, protecting a man he knew to be a sorcerer. He cinched his grip tight around his wrist uncomfortably. "I can take care of the other classes too… You don't have to do that. You've wasted enough time on me anyways."

"It was not wasted. I would have taken whatever time necessary to see you safely through," Uther replied. Arthur shifted his feet.

"I know… but you had more important things to see to than me," he muttered.

"Nothing in this world is more important to me than you." Arthur opened his mouth, faltered, and looked up.

"Me…" He blinked in confusion. Uther knew better than anyone how easily his political image could be toppled—how hard he'd worked to get where he was today. The country, Uther's work to protect her; surely…"Your career—"

"Would mean nothing if I lost you," Uther cut through his words firmly, meeting Arthur's eyes levelly. "I would have given my life if I thought I could have saved you by it. My time is very little in comparison."The apartment door opened, and Arthur quickly looked away. Uther put a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"Make sure you rest this week. I want you back in one piece when you finish those exams." Arthur nodded, lost for words.

"I think he'll make it," Leon observed from the doorway. "It seems Arthur has a vigilant guardian angel."

"Good. He seems to need one," Uther responded. Uther's hand left his son's shoulder, and Arthur glanced at him, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his face. Uther's hand left his shoulder. "I'll see you in two weeks."

"Good to see you on your feet, Arthur," Leon added with a smile before he turned to follow Uther. He'd be back tomorrow, though Arthur didn't know what good a bodyguard would do him. He hadn't been attacked; he'd been sick. Arthur watched them go, leaning against the doorframe for support, until the sleek car pulled away and out of sight. It was only then that Merlin reappeared, still talking over his shoulder and apparently oblivious that there was anyone standing by the door.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Gwen. There's something I really have to do—right now. Could you stay for a couple hours? Make sure—Arthur!" He broke off when he noticed the blond standing close on his left. He was clutching a piece of paper tightly in one hand. He shot Gwen a desperate look. Arthur sighed heavily, but Merlin clearly didn't even notice his expression. He stuffed the paper in his pocket. "Arthur… I have to go. I'll…" He darted a look at Gwen.

"I don't need a babysitter," Arthur said tetchily. Merlin's eyes flitted back to Arthur. Normally, he'd expect a quick-witted retort or at least a teasing grin, but Merlin merely shook his head distractedly, and Gwen offered the response instead.

"Good job I wasn't planning on babysitting you then," she said wryly.

"I'll be back… some time. I think. Just… be careful, okay? Get some rest." He didn't wait for an answer but set off down the street at a sprint and left Arthur standing by the open doorway with Gwen. He stared after Merlin's retreating figure. If truth be told, he was glad that most of the company was gone, but he wouldn't have minded Merlin being there.

"What… was that about?" he asked slowly. She shook her head and moved back so Arthur could come inside.

"A piece of paper he found tucked into his book. I guess it must've been a reminder—something important he forgot." Arthur shook his head. Merlin was a mystery—a closed book. He'd known his flatmate for close on five years now and still didn't understand half the things he did. He rested his hands on the windowsill and watched Merlin turn the corner, still running.

"He's been jumpier than a stray cat these last few days," Arthur commented.

"He's worried," Gwen pointed out.

"I know," Arthur muttered a bit crossly. "Everyone is _worried_. You're all treating me like I'll pass out if I walk down the block." Gwen's brows drew together.

"You shouldn't take it so poorly, Arthur. If we're all fussing over you, it's because we care. We thought you were going to die." Arthur shifted his feet. It wasn't as if he didn't already know that, but the reminder made him feel cold inside. The conflicting emotions he could read in Gwen's face spoke all too clearly of what they'd been through for him over the last few days. She was now avoiding his eyes altogether.

"Guinevere—"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out before he could get any further. "For what I said to you—about Morgana. I know you care about her, and I shouldn't have said anything." Arthur stared at her.

"No… You were right. Morgana's my sister. I should've at least talked to her—made sure she was alright," he said. "Don't ever apologize for speaking your mind. Not to me. You're always honest with me. I love that about you." _And so many, many other things…_ Gwen suddenly acquired an interest in the carpet. Arthur hesitated, then he reached out and brushed his fingers over her jawline, the lightest touch, turning her eyes back on him. "You have nothing to apologize for," he told her. "I caused my fair share of hurt as well." Gwen's eyes met his. Arthur tilted his head down, his breath catching, and wondered… if he leaned down, just a touch…

He drew his hand back and let it drop to his side. What was he _thinking? _He didn't need to confuse things between them any worse than he already had. But Gwen didn't seem upset.

"We both did," she replied with a small smile, and to his surprise she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm just glad you're alright," she murmured. Arthur closed his eyes, and he slipped his arms around her as well, allowing himself just for the second to press his cheek against her hair and hold her. He didn't know where he stood… whether she still felt about him as he did about her. But for now, she'd offered her forgiveness, and he had her friendship. And it was enough.

* * *

The day grew dark unusually early bringing with it a front of dark storm clouds. By evening, the rain had begun to fall and pattered softly against the windows. The last patient had left fifteen minutes since, and Gaius was closing up the surgery when he heard a knock at his door. Gaius shook his head quietly. Hours were posted outside, but it didn't stop people from trying oftentimes.

"I'm sorry, but the surgery is closed," he said as he opened the door. The newcomer pushed his hood back, and one trembling hand brushed the strands of dark, wet hair from his face.

"_Merlin?_" Gaius gasped. He stepped back and pulled the door wide open. Merlin had to have come all the way from Oxford. Why he hadn't called in advance, though, Gaius didn't understand, and it worried him, as did Merlin's drawn and weary look. But the dark expression in his eyes concerned Gaius the most. He had the look of someone who'd been on his feet too long with far too little sleep. "What's wrong? Has anything happened to Arthur?" Gaius asked. Merlin shook his head mutely.

"I…" His voice didn't hold out. He dropped his gaze and twisted his hands in the end of the scarf, thin and faded from years of use. Gaius put a hand on his nephew's shoulder and ushered him inside.

"It's alright. Sit down. Take as much time as you need," he said, steering Merlin to a seat. Several days ago now, he'd been there in the hospital to calm a restless and agitated Merlin and help him work out how to get into the hallway where he could find Arthur's room. He'd left Uther with a harmless sleeping spell to let Merlin do his own work when he arrived. He hadn't spoken with his nephew since, both of them occupied with their respective work, in the clinic and in the classroom. And it seemed now that perhaps the strain had been more than Merlin was ready to cope with. Merlin sat down on the couch, and Gaius gently coaxed his dripping jacket off. "Can I get you anything?" he offered quietly. Merlin shook his head again.

"She's gone, Gaius," he said in a tight voice. Gaius stopped with the jacket over his arm. Merlin wasn't looking at him, and he carried on, his words half lost in the somewhat slurred ramble that came forth almost of its own accord "I looked everywhere. Her flat, at her work… Everything was turned over, like someone had been through looking before me… She… turned herself in."

"Merlin," Gaius left the jacket aside and sat down next to his nephew. "Who?"

"Freya… Gaius, she had magic." Merlin's voice broke. Gaius bowed his head. _Oh Merlin… _His nephew was huddled miserably in the middle of the couch, head in hands. Gaius put an arm around his shoulders. _Why is it always you, my boy… Why can I never protect you? _He rested a hand on the back of Merlin's head, smoothing the damp hair, and held him while his breath hitched unsteadily.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he said softly. "I really am." Merlin drew back, shuddering, and Gaius stood up, squeezing his nephew's shoulder. He knew nothing of this Freya, although he knew all too well the pain of losing a dear friend, untried and unannounced. But now was no time to press for details. Merlin's eyes were dull from exhaustion, and he was afraid the young man would feel sick from the strain soon enough. He took Merlin's jacket with him into the main room and brought back a glass of water, but Merlin's head was resting against the arm of the couch when he returned, and his eyes were closed. His breath hitched unsteadily when Gaius returned. Gaius gently slipped Merlin's shoes off and shifted his feet onto the couch as well, and as he tucked a blanket around his nephew, a crumpled piece of paper on the ground caught his eye, stained with a spattering of water which smeared the ink on it. Gaius rested a hand briefly on his nephew's head with an aching heart, and offered Merlin the only comfort he could in the form of a quiet spell to help him sleep. And as he straightened up, leaving Merlin to rest, he tucked the note, folded over, beneath the edge of the glass, where Merlin would not miss it when he woke; a note which could only be one thing: the last words of a friend whom Merlin would never see again.

_I wish there was something I could do to thank you for your kindness and all the time you spent with me. I know you wanted to help me, but I don't believe anyone can. I couldn't let you throw away all your friends and everything you had for me._

_Please don't try to look for me. It will be easier this way. And don't feel any regret for my sake. You made me feel loved. That is more than anyone else could have done. _

_Good bye, Merlin._

* * *

**AN: To Merlin, to hopeful readers, and especially to Freya... I'm sorry. :( **


	7. As the World Burns

**AN: And here it is folks-the next installment!  
**

**A thousand thanks to all of you who have followed, favorited, and reviewed! You're all awesome and make me very, very happy! **

**So, I think I'm doing pretty well on this weekly update thing! I'm so looking forward to the next coming chapter. Hopefully it'll have some surprises in store for you all. Reviews are scientifically proven to increase writing speed (okay, maybe not scientifically, but...) so... don't be shy! **

* * *

_Merlin had never clambered down the dark, rocky stairs of the dragon's cavern before. Each step was slick with lichen and moisture. He kept a steadying hand flat on the wall as he went and clenched his teeth when his foot squelched on the muddy surface of the last step. A massive chain swung past his head with a loud jangle. Merlin's hair was ruffled by a great gust of wind, and the great dragon lit on the ground to his left._

"_Where will you go?" Merlin asked. A pair of luminous golden eyes blinked slowly at him. _

"_I can take care of myself, young one. Do not be concerned for me." _

_Merlin crouched beside the massive chain where it was anchored into the ground and traced the runes engraved on it. Magic humming deep inside of them, apparent at the first touch. They could never have held a dragon captive had they not been strengthened thus. It was ironic that Uther should hold his enemies captive with a force he so abhorred. But perhaps, he held to the belief that fire must at times be fought with fire. These were ancient, and likely they'd been used to ensnare dragons before—dragons who chose to break their peace as the Pure had. Merlin extended a hand, and he glanced back at the dragon who inclined his head, eyes half lidded. So Merlin took a breath and began to chant the ancient words. The runes on the chain lit with a pale glow which threaded up the links all the way to the dragon's feet. Their light grew brighter, still brighter, outshining the darkness in the cave… and ever brighter until Merlin was forced to squeeze his eyes shut against the glow. Heat was beginning to radiate from them… _

_Then all was fire. The dragon vanished. The darkness of the cavern was replaced by the garish orange light of flames dancing all about the young warlock. _

"_Merlin!" The warlock cracked his eyes open. "Merlin!" He spun about, searching for the source of the voice. His heart twisted inside his chest. _

"_Freya? Freya I'm coming! Where are you?" He swung his head from side to site, this way and that, searching for an escape, for a sign of the woman who was crying his name, but the flames were closing in, licking ever closer. He coughed, tried to breath for the oppressive heat and smoke. _There!_ He caught a glimpse of her dark head through the flames and lurched forward, stretching out his hand, heedless of the tongues of flame licking at it. Tears stained her ash-smudged face. He tried to call out a spell, push the flames away, smother them, douse them, anything—but his magic slipped from his grasp like water. "Freya!" he screamed, his voice raw. The fire closed in on him, swift and merciless, and he backed away to the wall. _

Merlin started awake with a jolt, his throat convulsing in a strangled sob. For a split second he didn't know where he was and turned over so quickly he nearly tumbled off the edge of the couch. His hand hit the coffee table to his left, and the sharp pain forced him back to full consciousness. He scrubbed the tears from his face and sat up, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Gaius was gone, and he was alone in the living room with a blanket draped over his shoulders, wearing shirt, jeans and his worn red scarf. He could still taste the acrid smoke on his tongue from the dream, and his throat felt sore as if he'd been screaming. He ran a shaky hand across his face. No peace in his dreams then, either... both the dragon and Freya were gone. He'd never see Freya again, and as for the dragon... He hadn't seen it since releasing its chains. Perhaps Uther had located and discretely executed it as well, like Freya. Perhaps he'd condemned two friends to death in one week.

He took a deep breath and hauled himself to his feet, wrinkling his nose. The smell was stronger than before… this wasn't from his dream. He left the blanket on the couch and sniffed at the air. Step by step, he crept towards it, searching out the stronger smell into the hall. He reached for the door handle to his old room then jerked his hand back with a hiss. It was burning hot, and from underneath the door, a snaking trail of dark smoke was creeping across the floor. Merlin's stomach dropped, as if he'd just been pushed over the edge of a steep incline.

"Gaius!" He spun about and pushed past Gaius' bedroom door, skidding to his uncle's bedside. "Gaius, you have to get up. Gaius!" The physician rolled over and blinked at Merlin blearily.

"Merlin…" He pushed himself up on his arms, and Merlin half pulled him to his feet.

"We need to get out. The apartment's on fire!" he gasped.

"What?" Gaius's bewildered expression was beginning to clear, but it wasn't fast enough for Merlin.  
"We have to get out!" Merlin urged. He could taste the smoke in the air. He clasped Gaius' arm and steered him towards the door even as the smoke began to billow, thick and pungent, down the hall from his room. Gaius recollected his senses when the reached the apartment door and put a hand on Merlin's arm.  
"Go. I'll be right behind you."

"Gaius!" Merlin froze in the doorway. No way in _hell _was he leaving without his uncle. "No. No, we have to go-_now_!" He turned after Gaius, reaching for his sleeve, but Gaius was just out of reach, and he vanished behind the door of his surgery. Merlin tried to shout but inhaled a lung full of smoke instead and doubled over, coughing. Something creaked down the hall, and a blaze of fire leapt from Merlin's door at the end of the hall. "Gaius!_" _Merlin choked, stumbling towards the surgery door. His eyes were beginning to sting. He dropped to his knees and threw out a hand. "_Scildan!_"* The flames roared and licked against his invisible shield. He crouched, panting for a breath of air not polluted by the smoke.

"Merlin!" Gaius had reappeared. His hand clutched at the younger man's arm. Merlin staggered upright again, and Gaius pressed a couple of boxes into his arms. "Go!" The fire was battering on Merlin's shield spell. He was struggling for breath, and the flames were too high and too great. He let it drop as they retreated out the door, and together he and Gaius made their way down the stairs. There was no way he could protect the whole apartment.

The street itself was an inferno. Uther's house was ablaze as well. Tall flames danced against the pitch-black backdrop of the night sky, mocking the gathering crowd of onlookers. Merlin drew in great gulps of air. His throat felt scorched and raw from the smoke, and his eyes were watering. The apartments adjacent to Gaius' were already evacuating. A crowd was gathering on the street. Several neighbors were on their mobiles, making emergency calls. Merlin caught a glimpse of Geoffrey Monmouth shouting something to another bystander, and close behind him was Thomas Smith, Gwen's father, who had his hands on a young girl's shoulders and was speaking firmly to her—probably trying to calm her. She looked a bit worse for wear from the flames—singed if not burnt, and was crying. The building, already ablaze, suddenly roared, as if a great dousing of fuel had been poured atop it. The flames stretched higher into the sky and spread, and Gaius' apartment was entirely swallowed in the conflagration.

"Gaius." Merlin glanced to the side to see that Geoffrey had come to stand with them, looking pale and gaunt in the light of the fire. "The Pendragons—"

"Arthur and Morgana were not home yet… and Uther isn't here," Gaius affirmed, but his expression was grim. "He must be notified as soon as possible. He may be in danger. This is no natural fire." He turned briskly to Geoffrey Monmouth "See that every house on the street is evacuated right away, and bring anyone who's hurt to me." Geoffrey nodded.

"I'll speak to the Patroni. A few of them are already here." Geoffrey had scarcely turned to go when several people screamed. One or two bystanders jostled Merlin, shuffling backwards and clinging to one another. But Merlin stood rooted to the spot. His gaze snapped upwards in the direction that several hands were pointing. A dark shadow swept across the street. The fire was obscured by a massive figure. The great dragon soared above them, wings outstretched, and this time when the burst of flame swept the buildings beside Uther's house, the dragon was in plane view. No… _no! _Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the dragon's presence, seeking his consciousness far above in the sky.

_Why are you doing this? _he cried out in desperation. The dragon made no reply, although Merlin was aware of its presence. It could not have failed to hear him.

The creature had told him of his 'destiny', spoken of the Druids and the dragon lords who watched over his kin before the Purge, told him tales of magic and history that no school would speak of. He'd even given Merlin the spell to heal Arthur when there was no other hope. In turn Merlin had given the creature his freedom. For after all… the dragon believed in his and Arthur's destiny. He'd assumed that after so many days, the dragon would be far away by now, safe in some remote part of the country_. _He'd been _naïve_ enough to think that the creature would leave the city… would seek refuge far from there, where he could breathe the open air and stretch his wings. That he would seek revenge, Merlin had foolishly never imagined. _You're hurting innocent people! _Merlin wanted to throw back his head and scream aloud to the skies. His magic stirred in panic, but he didn't know the first thing about countering a dragon's strength, and somehow he felt that his magic would do little good against a creature as powerful as this one…. He opened his eyes, shaking. The dragon wasn't just wreaking havoc—he was flaunting his power. He was bold. They couldn't touch him, and he knew it. The figure swept low over the street, its growl rumbling like thunder, then the dark shadow circling over Uther's burning home vanished. _I did this... _

"Merlin!" Gaius hissed. His hand clamped on Merlin's arm and Merlin realized that he was the only one left standing this close to the house. He snatched up Gaius' boxes and shuffled back to rejoin his uncle, but his eyes remained locked on the place where the dragon had disappeared. "Are you alright?" Merlin clasped his armload tightly and nodded. A mighty groan announced the impending collapse of Uther's home. Merlin shuddered.

"Gaius, the... the dragon. How is he doing that?" he asked, gesturing helplessly at the empty air above them. Gaius quietly shook his head.

"No one but the dragon lords knew the spell that kept the dragons safe from detection." _And a sorcerer's spell dies with him… _

"The dragon lords are dead," Merlin said hoarsely.

"It would seem," Gaius answered, without taking his eyes from the crumbling Pendragon house, "That at least one of them is not."

Despite concerted efforts from fire departments across the city, more homes were collapsing under the destructive heat of the dragon's flames. The block was soon evacuated entirely and doused with a chemically enhanced liquid from fire-prevention helicopters, now only in hopes of putting out the wreckage. Merlin was all too glad to escape the scene of the inferno and the panicking crowds near the gated neighborhood. He left Gaius tending as best he could to the injured, with the promise that he would rejoin Merlin in Oxford as soon as possible. The sirens within the city started up shortly after Merlin left. Normally, only the lights along major roads stayed on at night after curfew, but now all the streetlights were lit, a poignant sign of crisis, illuminating the road so more emergency vehicles could make their way to the scene of disaster.

Once he caught the first possible train back to Oxford and could hear himself speak again, Merlin rapidly dialed Arthur's number. He had to call three times before his flatmate finally picked up.

"Merlin? Where the _hell _are you?" Arthur's voice practically shouted at him. Merlin winced. His flatmate had an amazing ability to rise to an occasion, even ten seconds after waking up. "You bloody well disappeared with _no _explanation, and—"

"Arthur, there's been a fire," Merlin interrupted.

"What?" Arthur's tirade came up short. "Was there another riot?"

"No…" Merlin considered briefly trying to explain the situation to Arthur and cast the idea aside. "Listen, you need to get out of the flat. Just… grab whatever you might need for the next couple of days and get out. Go to Gwen's flat."

"Oh sure. I'll just crop up in the middle of the night and invite myself in to stay the weekend. _That'll _go over well." Arthur sounded exasperated. "I can't do that—"

"Fine, just… show up to stay for a couple hours. I'll sort it when I get there."

"It's the _middle of the night_," Arthur repeated as if Merlin hadn't heard the first time.

"Arthur," Merlin's voice was edged with desperation as well. He couldn't discuss this now—not on public transportation where cameras and mics were everywhere. "I don't have time to explain. You could be in danger if you stay at the flat. _Please_; just do it. Gwen will understand. I'll be there in about an hour and half." He heard Arthur's sigh clearly through the speaker. A rustle, and a clatter… then,

"You'd better have a damn good explanation for this." The line went dead.

* * *

_Be there in 5. You at Gwen's? _Merlin's text read.

_Been there for 45 mins, _Arthur wrote back and stuffed his mobile into his back pocket, returning his attention to the news report on his laptop. Merlin might have explained _where _the fire was. Waking up in the middle to a panicked call from his errant flatmate (who he _definitely_ hadn't been worried about) was strange enough. Watching his old home burn on the media screen… it was surreal.

"What does it say now?" he asked, squinting over Guinevere's shoulder. She shook her head.

"Nothing. There are no casualty reports yet." Her eyes lingered on the red 'breaking news' bar where there was a scrolling synopsis of the facts as so far reported.

"I'm sure everyone is fine," Arthur said, as much to reassure himself as Gwen. "Merlin and Gaius were in the first house to catch after my father's. If they got out on time, the others did too."

"And… your father?"

"He's in Wales, negotiating some debates about their educational policies," Arthur answered. That at least had never been a concern when he saw the fires. Gwen nodded and tore her gaze from the screen to fetch a couple of mugs.

Arthur leaned over the back of Gwen's chair and began to scroll through the reports from the news-headline. None of the news sources seemed to know any more than others. All recounted the same stories—but one image caught Arthur's eye: the blurry picture of a serpentine, winged creature above his old home. He clicked it, now ignoring the text that framed around the imbedded video. It was a blurry recording—probably taken from a smartphone. Arthur expanded it and tapped the volume up key.

"Guinevere," he called over his shoulder. "You may want to see this." The video clip was a low quality phone recording with still worse sound, wavering with the motion of the unsteady hand that held it. The fire consuming Arthur's old home leapt into the sky, then across it swept a dark shape—grainy, but unmistakable. Gwen, now standing at Arthur's shoulder, gasped. Arthur gaped at the screen. _It can't be…_ He replayed the clip a second time and froze with the figure in a visible position, displayed against the backdrop of the flames.

"That's… not photoshopped, is it?" Gwen whispered.

"Not on a news source like this one," Arthur said weakly. _Dear God… _Gwen leapt up when she heard a knock on the door, and Arthur spun about on the spindly office chair to face the newcomer.

"Merlin!" Gwen gasped. She backed away to let Merlin trudge in through the door.

"What happened?" Arthur couldn't keep the shock from his voice when he caught sight of his flatmate. Merlin's face was smeared with ash, his hair sticking up at all odd angles, and his clothes both dirty and rumpled. Merlin shrugged.

"I stayed at Gaius's," he mumbled, as if that explained it, rubbing a hand across his eyes. That only succeeded in smearing the ash further. _But why…? _Arthur stared at him. Merlin paid him little heed. He gave the laptop with the live report a cursory glance. "It's a dragon. I saw it," he said. Arthur somehow felt his heart sink even lower at Merlin's confirmation.

"Can't they take it down?" Arthur asked as the video-clip replayed for the dozenth time. Merlin exhaled heavily.

"If dragons couldn't hide themselves from modern detection, don't you think they'd have all been killed years ago?" he asked in a monotone.

"So we just watch while it burns the city at will?" Arthur muttered. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice-grip. There was a lengthy pause. Merlin had let Gwen usher him to a seat and accepted the warm mug of tea she offered. He bowed his head over it, as if drinking in its warmth.

"Gaius said there is a man… the man who was bound to this dragon years ago, who cast a powerful enchantment years ago to keep it hidden from detection."

"A sorcerer?" Gwen breathed, staring at Merlin wide-eyed.

"How does this help us?" Arthur asked, heartily agreeing with Gwen's feeling.

"A dragon lord," Merlin amended. "He and the dragon are bound by an ancient pact… If he threatens to end the spell that keeps the dragon hidden from detection, he can stop the attack on the city." A sorcerer. A 'dragon lord'. It made no difference to Arthur. The man had magic, and that made him questionable… He couldn't see why a_ sorcerer_ would want to stop this attack. But with the city burning as they spoke, it didn't appear that they had much of a choice. He pursed his lips and glanced sidelong at his friend.

"Where is he now?" Merlin shook his head.

"I don't know… He probably went into hiding with the Druids long ago. Nobody knows where they live." Nobody… that was except the Druids themselves. The idea presented itself unbidden. Arthur traced a finger over his computer's touchpad. His father would be livid if he knew what was going through his son's mind at this moment. But then, Arthur had crossed that bridge the day he recognized the Druid's old, familiar face…. England was burning, and Arthur would be damned if he sat idle and watched. Arthur reached a decision and shut the laptop lid as he rose to his feet.

"I think I know someone who can help."

* * *

"Arthur, we should really wait for Gaius… You shouldn't be out. It could be dangerous." Arthur quickened his pace with half an eye on his phone screen. _Destination on the left in 50 feet, _it read.

"You can go back," he said, counting off the address numbers as he walked.

"I can't leave you out here alone!" Merlin protested.

"What are you going to do if that dragon sweeps down out of the sky—ask him nicely to let me alone?" Arthur scoffed.

"Fine, if you're going to be a stubborn prat, would you at _least _tell me where we're going?" _There! _Arthur stopped, and Merlin's shoulder collided with his. He turned to look at his friend and searched Merlin's face. The dark haired man looked more annoyed than concerned right now, but that might change in a split second.

"Merlin… I need you _not _to freak out when I tell you… alright?"

"Why would I freak out?" Merlin asked, eyes narrowing.

"Look…" Arthur shifted his weight to the other leg and frowned at him. "This person—you know him. He's one of the professors."

"Am I supposed to freak out now?" Merlin asked sardonically. Arthur rolled his eyes. "So we're going to drop by a professor's house at an ungodly hour of the morning. Great. How exactly is he going to help?" Merlin added. Arthur couldn't think of any gentle way to put this. Merlin had a habit of scurrying off the moment magic was mentioned. He really didn't want to do this alone, and Gwen had been on the phone with her father when they left. Like as not, he'd have to come stay with her now that his home was either damaged or destroyed. Arthur buried his hands in his pockets.

"He's not _just _a professor…" Merlin looked back at him expectantly. "He's a Druid," Arthur said all at once.

"He's a _what_?" Merlin yelped.

"Shh!" Arthur hissed and put both hands up. "See? This is why I didn't tell you!"

"Oh, so you thought I'd be _more _calm about it if you waited till we were outside his door to tell me?" Merlin said in a high-pitched voice.

"Stop panicking! Merlin, it'll be fine—"

"I'm not panicking!" Merlin retorted. His voice dropped. "I just… you… you _knew _he was a Druid?"

"Of course I knew! I'm not stupid." Arthur responded. Merlin stared at him. Then he let out a bark of laughter, startling Arthur. "Oh, don't even start that now," the blond growled, because there was a _definite_ gleam of amusement in his friend's blue eyes. "I met him before. He's the same man who came to pick the Druid boy up—the one we helped get out of Camelot, remember?"

"Yeah… but you… Arthur, you…" Merlin faltered. "You didn't turn him in."

"Astounding observation," Arthur deadpanned. "And if you don't want me disowned and turned out on my ear, you'll keep it to yourself." Merlin was twisting his scarf round his hands again. Still nervous then… "Look, Merlin—" He stopped speaking when Merlin lifted his head, because his friend was smiling—a smile brighter than he'd seen on Merlin's face in weeks.

"That might cost you a bit, Arthur."

"Shut up!" Arthur retorted and smacked him on the back of the head.

Arthur had almost expected that they wouldn't be able to wake Sellers merely by knocking on his door. Less still did he expect the older man to look so alert when he answered. He was wrapped in a robe—clearly not expecting visitors, but very awake and his eyes as sharp and observant as ever.

"Arthur," he sounded puzzled, but then his gaze settled on Merlin, and the dark haired man went rigid. Arthur pursed his lips with a touch of impatience. The curly-haired professor was really one of the _least_ intimidating people Arthur knew—alongside Merlin himself. _Come on, Merlin. Calm down. _

"Professor, I'm sorry, I wouldn't bother you if this wasn't serious… We need help." Sellers stepped back.

"Come in, please," he invited brusquely. Arthur prompted his shell-shocked friend forward, and Merlin recovered himself a little as they came inside; he might be spooked by the situation, but Merlin was no coward, even if acted like it at times. He'd be fine. Arthur gestured to his companion.

"This is my flatmate—Merlin Astur."

"I know him," Sellers replied. Arthur gave his flatmate a narrow eyed sidelong look. Merlin hadn't mentioned meeting Professor Sellers before. "Are you alright? You don't look well," Sellers said with a concerned look. Merlin blinked and nodded, and Arthur hurried to intervene, as much to get to their business as to take the pressure off his nervous companion.

"We're looking for someone," he said. "A dragon lord. We have reason to believe he's staying with the Druids."

"A dragon lord?" The Druid's brows lowered, and his eyes darkened seriously. "So, the Great Dragon is free again, is he?" He sighed. "The dragon lords were executed in the Purge. Surely you must know that, Arthur." Merlin lifted his chin and met the Druid's eyes.

"Not all of them, professor."

"Iseldir, please," the man said. Merlin inclined his head with a dignity entirely uncharacteristic to him, and Arthur's jaw almost dropped. Gone was the shell-shocked, fearful demeanor Merlin entered the house with. He'd gathered a completely different air about himself, standing straight and tall, and his eyes trained confidently on the Druid.

"Iseldir," he acknowledged. "If all the dragon lords were dead, the dragon would no longer be a problem. He is still under the protection of a sorcerer's enchantment. We're looking for his dragon lord. And any condemned sorcerer who survived the Purge would have sought refuge with the Druids." Silence followed his words. Iseldir's gaze turned on Arthur, and suddenly it was Arthur who felt uncomfortable.

"There is a place where sorcerers have been able to hide—those of us who have run foul of this country's laws. They have lived in peace and safety for many years," Iseldir said quietly. "I can tell you where to look, but I would be putting their lives in your hands."

"You wouldn't need to... You could go yourself," Arthur suggested tentatively.

"I don't believe he would listen to me," the Druid answered with a wry, humorless smile. _And he will listen to us? _Arthur wondered. He shifted, drew his shoulders back, and forced himself to make steady eye contact. He was still leery of trusting the Druid. After all, Iseldir embodied the very thing he'd been taught to hate and fear. But it seemed that Iseldir did not entirely trust him either, and though he hated it, he could not blame the man. He was now and always Uther's son. Such was the lens through which many people viewed him. Not a week since, he'd made the decision to protect Professor Sellers from his own father's laws. But whether he would offer that same clemency to a whole community of sorcerers…

"If you choose to trust me with that information... then I should hope," Arthur said, choosing his words with great care, "That my actions both now and in the future will never add to the innocent people who have died these last many years." At that, Iseldir's expression changed, and the look in his eyes might almost… almost have been a smile.

"You will do more than hope," he said. Arthur inclined his head ever so slightly. "The place you are looking for lies beside Spinster's Rock. But you will be lucky to find Balinor anywhere near the others. He prefers to keep to himself." _Balinor_. Arthur repeated the name several times in his mind. They had a name and a place… They _would _be able to find him.  
"Thank you," he breathed.

"Do not make me regret trusting you," Iseldir answered. Arthur nodded slowly, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. It was a serious decision to make… but in the end, Arthur felt as if he'd already made it many years ago… the only _right_ decision to make. But this time, it was Merlin who spoke for him, and his voice was full of conviction.

"You won't."

* * *

**AN2: *Scildan = shield. Taken directly from the show. **

**Thoughts? Criticisms? Accolades? Questions? Concerns? Complaints?  
All are welcome. So please leave a review if you can! **

**Cheers!  
Sandyy**


	8. To See

**AN: I apologize in advance if this seems rushed. Long week full of craziness and not much time for writing. BUT I made my Saturday deadline!**

**Anyways, this chapter contains a moment I think many of you have been waiting for... sooo... enjoy! And let me know if you like how I played the scene out!**

**I didn't get much response on the last chapter, so if you've got time, I'd love some feedback on how I'm doing. I know it's silly, but I'm always encouraged to hear from my readers, even if it's a short note.**

**I know, ANs are boring, so... on with the show!**

* * *

"Arthur is not giving any statements." Merlin's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. Gwen caught a glimpse of Arthur's blond hair and followed it and the sound of Merlin's voice, trying to keep her chin up as he pushed past a sturdy young man with his camera. Even being around Arthur, she had rarely encountered a flurry of media like this. Having Leon around had its perks; the body-guard knew how to chase off tenacious reporters. Right now, Guinevere wished he were there. _How _had the press found Arthur here anyways?

"Are you speaking for him, Astur?" Some attention had diverted to the dark haired student.

"It looks like you've seen some of the actions," another interjected. "Can you tell us anything about it?" Merlin's face was still smudged with ash, and he looked nearly dead on his feet. But his blue eyes were still flint-hard.

"No comment," he bit out as Gwen wriggled her way through the press and reached her friends.

"Let's go," she murmured as Merlin clamped a hand on Arthur's opposite arm. The sooner they got out of this crowd, the better!

"Arthur Pendragon," Gwen gritted her teeth. A single reporter—slim woman several inches taller than Gwen, placed herself brazenly in front of the three students, and she lifted a pair of startlingly blue eyes to Arthur's face, a small, secretive smile sparkling in them. "A dragon seems a difficult creature to miss." Gwen slipped her arm through Arthur's and tried to move around the woman, but she stepped sideways to block his way. "People are claiming that your father has let his guard slip—that there should be a more interrogations—that those under suspicion should be apprehended before other incidents like this occur—"

"No." Arthur cut over her abruptly. "Sorcery may be an evil, but so is injustice. We cannot consider people guilty until proven innocent."

"Arthur!" A flurry of activity followed the statement. Half a dozen voice recorders surged closer.  
"Can you give us a statement on your father's execution of—"

"Do you believe the policies on—"

"No comment!" Merlin's voice was short and clipped, but it carried. There were still shouts, calls for Arthur's attention, and far too many people crowded about them.

"Come on." Gwen gripped Arthur's arm tight. "They can't follow you inside," she whispered, trying to navigate Arthur past them before they plied him with any more questions.

"Mr. Pendragon!" The blue-eyed woman reached out to catch at Arthur's other arm and stop him from leaving. Gwen didn't even see the movement. Before she knew what was happening, Merlin had placed himself between Arthur and the reporter, and his fingers encircled her wrist in a strong grip. His eyes were alight with a fire Gwen never imagined seeing in his expression.

"Leave him alone." His voice was low and laced with potent warning.

"_Merlin_," Arthur hissed and grabbed his friend by the back of his shirt. Merlin let the reporter go, never taking his eyes from her face. Gwen expected a startled look in the young woman's face. Instead, she was meeting Merlin's eyes with a matching look of open hostility that made the hair on Gwen's scalp prickle. It was as if they _knew _each other. Arthur cinched his hold on Merlin tight, and Gwen never let go of his arm until she'd steered them both inside the apartment building.

Gwen shut the door firmly behind them, and she and Arthur let out a simultaneous breath of relief.

"Merlin…" Arthur turned on him with a frown. "I know they're bloody annoying, but you can't treat reporters like that. They'll prosecute if you grab them like that." Merlin ignored him and headed straight up the stairs for Gwen's apartment. His eyes had lost none of their fire, and every line of his body read tension and anger. Arthur and Gwen exchanged a glance and followed him up. "They're not going to break the door down. I promise," Arthur told Merlin, sinking onto the couch while Gwen hovered anxiously by the door, watching her two friends. Merlin didn't even make it there. As soon as he'd shot the deadbolt home, he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, his body slumped, as if he might slide down to the floor after a moment.

"Merlin?" He opened one eye halfway. Gwen put a hand on his arm and steered him away from the wall, her brow creased with concern. What had Merlin been doing that left dark circles like this under his eyes? "There's a towel under the bathroom sink. Go get yourself cleaned up. I'll see what I can find for you to eat when you get back," she said gently. Merlin was in poor shape to argue with any offer of assistance. He gave her a tired but grateful smile.

"Thanks, Gwen. You're brilliant." She squeezed his arm and sent him towards the bathroom with a gentle nudge in the right direction.

_Why is it never so simple with you? _Gwen wondered, turning her attention back on Arthur. He didn't look as worn as Merlin, but something was troubling him. He sat with his head propped on one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to stave off a headache. She crossed the room quietly and sat down on the couch beside him.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Arthur sighed heavily.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he murmured. "That… what I just said… it'll be all over the news tomorrow."

"You said nothing wrong, Arthur." He shook his head.

"I'm never supposed to make statements related to my father's current or future policies. If he chooses to initiate another series of interrogations now, I'll be quoted everywhere."

"You should be," Gwen said firmly. "If you believe that your father's policies are wrong, you should speak against them. You wouldn't do so if it wasn't important." Arthur turned his head just a fraction to look at her, and the expression in his eyes tugged at her heart. "Arthur." She reached out and her hand touched his wrist. He went very still, and she wondered whether she should pull her hand away again. Things had been more comfortable before—when they used to sit and talk for hours: outside, at cafes, over dinner. Arthur had grown more relaxed with her. She'd listened to his troubles so many times, as he'd often listened to hers, and other times they'd taken silent comfort from the companionship, if it were only a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on. Even if Arthur said their relationship had been 'nothing serious', she was a friend to him. "What's wrong? What happened?" _Let me help. _His eyes lingered on her hand resting over his.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," he said quietly.

"Tell me," Gwen said, withdrawing her hand again. And somewhat to her surprise, he did.

There was more to the story than Gwen had even guessed in a stretch of imagination. He told her everything he hadn't told her before when he'd arrived at her flat so early in the morning: about Merlin who'd never come back the night before—more concerning still in light of his recent behavior—about the 'dragon lord' they were supposed to find; about the Druid who he'd first met when he helped Mordred escape Camelot, and everything from the first day of classes when he saw Iseldir Sellers to his conversation tonight and what the Druid had told him and Merlin. Gwen listened attentively with knitted brows, watching his expression. When he finally fell silent again, she waited a moment, letting him quietly process all the emotions that were warring inside of him before she spoke. Merlin worried her… They _both _worried her. But she fixed for the moment on what was most immediate.

"You and Merlin are going to this Spinster's rock then?" He nodded.

"Do we have a choice?" Arthur sighed. "We're only back here now because Merlin insisted on waiting for Gaius." Gwen's mouth thinned to a line.

"I don't know, Arthur… I think this dragon can be held at bay by the air forces right now. He must have found a place to lie low once the military planes were up, because there haven't been any more attacks… But we can't detect him with any equipment, and we can't have the entire skyline of Camelot patrolled twenty-four seven. It would take more manpower and funding than we've got." Arthur nodded. "The dragon is clearly intelligent," Gwen continued. "He started by attacking areas where Uther was likely to be, and he won't limit himself to Camelot long. We can't see him, and he can be anywhere at any time. If he could destroy your father's whole block the way he did, he could choose to terrorize this whole country."

"I know… We have to try," Arthur sighed. "Merlin seems very certain that this will work."

"But you're not," Gwen confirmed. Arthur lifted his shoulders.

"This dragon lord… he's a sorcerer, Guinevere. How can we possibly trust him? You know what magic can do. Just look at what the dragon has done already." He pressed his fingertips to his temple. "And the Druids… I promised I'd keep them secret: a whole community of sorcerers. My father's been looking for them for years. Our country is at _war _with them, and now I know where they are, and I've promised not to give them away." He shook his head. "What have I done?" _Oh Arthur… _Gwen gently pried his hand away from his face.

"What you've _done_ is the right thing. These people—these refugees… they could be like my father, or like Gaius; men who were falsely accused and forced to flee."

"And what if they're not?" Arthur hunched his shoulders, inspecting his hands which he'd settled on his knees. "What if my father is right?"

"He's not," Gwen said firmly. Sometimes she hated Uther for this—for everything he'd taught Arthur that made the man doubt his own good intentions in this way. "Arthur," she laced a hint of insistence into her voice. "Your father is making an assumption about human nature—that a man, given the power, will choose to act according to his desires and without regard for law and morals." She put a hand on Arthur's cheek and turned his head so he met her gaze. "You remember the question—whether the just individual truly exists or is merely a social construct." She was pleased to see the conflict dissolve from his eyes at her words and a smile play across his lips.

"How could I possibly forget?" he asked. Gwen smiled back. Arthur was ever the eloquent and staunch defender of justice and the just man himself, and so he had been in class, in his own work, even in private discussions.

"I know you don't believe what your father says. That's why you were willing to give the Druid boy a second chance. And it's why you _will _give the Druid refugees and this 'Balinor' the benefit of the doubt," she said quietly. "You have a good heart, Arthur. You shouldn't ignore it."

"You believe that?" Arthur asked slowly, the faint smile still lingering on his face.

"Of course I do," she said. And as if those words were the permission he'd been waiting for, Arthur leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers.

Gwen didn't get a chance to respond. It lasted barely a second before he drew back.

"Is that what you meant?" he said. Gwen drew in a tiny breath. Everything she'd thought or meant to say had flown out of her mind. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. A tentative question was written in his face, the half-masked fear that he'd made a mistake… and yet it was accompanied by the small, endearing grin she was so familiar with. She felt a pang deep in her chest. She'd missed this—missed _him_. She laughed and threaded her fingers through his soft, golden hair, pulling him close, and kissed him back fervently. Arthur let out a soft hum of contentment; his free arm wrapped around her waist, and she tilted her head back as he deepened the kiss.

_Clink_. Both of them broke apart, breathless and startled. In the doorway to the kitchen, Merlin froze, his dark hair standing up in unruly, wet spikes, and a damp towel draped around his neck. Gwen felt the heat rising to her face and a cursory glance at Arthur revealed the same reaction. Merlin, on the other hand, didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. He resumed his previous occupation and took a casual bite of the sandwich he was holding.

"Don't mind me. You two just carry on," he said over the mouthful, lifting the sandwich in a gesture reminiscent of toast.

"Merlin!" Arthur snarled, and a couch pillow spun across the room towards his friend's head. Merlin somehow managed to duck it without dropping his cup and plate int he other hand, and a characteristic impish grin broke across his face.

"What? I was hungry! I set the kettle on to boil if anyone else wants a cup of coffee." His eyes gleamed. "Anyway, I was just going to go down and look for Gaius. He'll be here in a moment."

"Wh—Gaius is here?" Arthur's eyes widened. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Just did," Merlin said brightly. Arthur made a dive for the book perched on the back of Gwen's couch.

"Arthur!" Gwen reproved, snatching the book away from him, but Merlin, with instinct born from years of living with Arthur, had already made his escape around the corner. He peered around briefly to add,

"Can we call a cease fire? I need to rescue Gaius from the media down there."

"Don't worry, Merlin. I've got him." Gwen laughed, wrapping her arms around Arthur. Merlin still kept a suspicious look on Arthur as he sidled through the room and opened the door.

"Glad you two finally figured things out," he said as he put the door between himself and his flatmate. "I was getting tired of Arthur moping around about Lance." Arthur squirmed free of Gwen's grip and, deprived of the book, lobbed the remaining pillow at Merlin. It hit the door with a heavy _thump_. Gwen couldn't help it. She burst into a fit of laughter clung to Arthur, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

"Guinevere—" Arthur's tone of voice was enough to make Gwen smother her mirth briefly and peer up at him. His eyes were wide with unexpected gravity and a touch of guilt. "What about—"

"Lance?" Gwen interrupted, sobering. Arthur blinked and nodded mutely. Gwen pursed her lips. It wasn't as if she'd never thought about it, but things had never been the same with him… he and Arthur were simply so different. "Lance is a very dear friend. We both spend a lot of time up at the medical school and have classes together, but going out for coffee a couple times doesn't make me his girlfriend." The tension drained out of Arthur's shoulders.

"Oh." He looked so utterly relieved that it made Gwen smile again.

"Oh." She echoed, trying not to start laughing at his expression, but when she looked at him, she saw her own amusement reflected in his eyes. Arthur leaned forward so his breath tickled the strands of hair around her ear.

"And… does this?"

"_Arthur_," Gwen put her hands on his chest and shoved him back, trying to ignore his charming little smile and gleam in his eyes. Much as she wanted to keep him here—to talk so many, many things out that they'd left unsaid for a long time… There were more pressing matters at stake. "Come on. You and Merlin need to get going. You can take my car. It's round the back," she said, standing. She heard Merlin and Gaius' voices in the hallway outside the door, just audible but not clear enough to make out words. They both sounded agitated.

"Gwen," Arthur put a hand on her arm. "What about the reporters? And Leon? He's supposed to 'check in' on me today."

"We'll go out the back—through the fire escape. You and Merlin can take the side streets and avoid the reporters," Gwen improvised. She reached down to take his hand, suppressing a wave of anxiety as she let her thumb graze the dark bruise on his wrist from the IV. "Leave Leon to me and Gaius. You just focus on what you need to do."

* * *

"Why was I never told?" Merlin struggled to keep an even voice. His hands were curled into fists inside the pockets of his blue jacket. His whole life—his _whole life _he'd never even _heard _the name Balinor.

"Merlin…We didn't know whether he was dead or alive. Hunith was afraid you might try to look for him. It was a risk we preferred not to take. It's better that you aren't tied to names like his." _Names like his…_ Merlin's jaw set. It made his father sound like a common criminal… and yet it was true. He would never have gotten his travel papers for Camelot if he'd been acknowledged as the offspring of a known sorcerer.

"Arthur!" Gwen reappeared to clamber down the fire escape, holding a thin book in her hand. "It's right here." Merlin clenched his teeth in frustration. That was his cue. Gwen had brought maps to avoid using a possibly-bugged wireless mobile phone for directions, and she'd handed Arthur the car keys. But Merlin lingered a moment longer.

"Why are you telling me now?" he asked.

"You are his son." Gaius put a hand on his nephew's arm. "But more importantly, you are Hunith's son. I see so much of her in you... and that may be your only hope of changing his mind," his uncle added softly. When Merlin didn't answer, Gaius's hand shifted to rest on his shoulder. "Merlin… I'm sorry." The warlock bowed his head. He wasn't going to part ways with Gaius on poor terms, but it rankled a little that he'd been kept in the dark this long… about so many things.

"It's fine… it really doesn't matter." Hollow words; Merlin knew his expression spoke otherwise. His uncle smiled and gave him a half hug, squeezing his shoulder.

"We'll have time to speak later. You should go." His expression became serious. "Arthur really shouldn't be going anywhere. He's supposed to be recovering." Merlin's gaze strayed to Arthur's blond head bowed over the man next to Gwen's currently unruly curls as she helped plot out their route.

"You try and talk him out of it," he said with a small shake of his head. Once Arthur took psychological responsibility for a situation, there was no stopping him from seeing it through.

"Are you sure he'll take this well?"

"He will," Merlin answered quietly with a surge of pride. He'd never been more sure of anything. "He's the one who found our Druid after all." He wondered whether the frown that creased Gaius' brow was concern for Arthur's actions or his health. But the physician only put a hand on Merlin's arm and smiled.

"Be careful then. And look after him."

"I always do," Merlin said, smiling back. "Don't worry. We'll be back by afternoon."

"Merlin!" Arthur tossed the map book at him out the window of the car. "Are you coming or not?" Merlin fumbled it and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes," he grumbled and picked it up off the ground. Gaius patted him on the shoulder.

"Go on—before those reporters get the bright idea to come exploring around the apartment." Gwen reached through the open car window to squeeze Arthur's hand.

"If your dad calls or messages, you're in Cambridge visiting Morgana."

Despite his best efforts, Merlin still felt a twinge of biting jealousy as he climbed into the car and watched Gwen's fingers slowly disentangle themselves from Arthur's so he could pull out onto the street. Ironic, that it had taken Arthur's near death for the two of them to see what they had been too blind or stubborn to recognize. He'd been blind too… but not as lucky.

"So," Arthur broke the silence minutes after they'd left the apartment, Gaius, and Gwen behind. "Are you going to explain where you vanished to yesterday in such a tearing hurry?"

"Nope," Merlin replied in a clipped tone. A long silence followed. "You're turning right here." Arthur acknowledged the instruction with a nod and flicked his turn-signal on.

"Something's been bothering you, hasn't it?"

"Maybe." _Drop it, Arthur, please_. Of course, Arthur didn't.

"Your exams?" he suggested. Merlin huffed. "I know, it was stressful for you and Gwen and… everyone—me being sick on top of everything else."

"I think_ you_ got the short end of the stick on that one, Arthur," Merlin said dismissively, but a slight smile curled at his lips. It was _almost _like an apology. Almost.

"I don't know about that. I got an extension on my exams, Morgana's talking to me again, and Lance says I'm a walking miracle for recovering this fast after being so sick." Merlin's smile grew, and he allowed himself a small rush of pride.

"A walking miracle?" Merlin echoed. "I think I'll have to talk to Lance. Your head's big enough without Lance inflating it." Arthur shot him a fleeting scowl.

"Merlin… You know what I mean. It doesn't make sense. Dr. Collins and Gaius both said I was too far gone. I shouldn't have come back." Merlin shrugged. He didn't like to think about how close they'd come to losing Arthur… all because he hadn't recognized that blue-eyed, dark haired woman and her golden eyes. He was damned if he'd let her near Arthur again—secretary, waitress, reporter, or any other guise she appeared in.

"Magic," he said offhandedly. He snapped his mouth shut at once, feeling foolish, but Arthur only let out a small laugh.

"My father at least believes that exists. He always said he didn't believe in miracles." Merlin shifted in his seat to study the blond though still with a hint of caution, encouraged nonetheless by Arthur's good humor.

"If it was magic—" Arthur exhaled, a derisive, incredulous sound, but Merlin quickly pressed on before his courage had time to trickle away. "If some sorcerer—like… Iseldir maybe—had come to heal you… what _would_ you do?" Merlin stuffed his hands under his legs to keep himself from toying with his scarf as he was wont to do when the subject of magic came up. Arthur's fingers drummed on the steering wheel and he blew out a breath.

"I suppose," Arthur said slowly. He paused, and Merlin bit his lip, trying desperately to tell himself that Arthur's answer didn't mean anything to him… didn't matter at all. "That I would say thank you," Arthur finished. The warlock beside him had to keep himself from letting out a half-euphoric, half-hysterical little laugh of joy. He turned his face towards the window to hide the smile that spread across his face. _You're welcome, Arthur._

* * *

Just under three hours was more than long enough for Merlin, tired as he was, to doze with his head tucked against the plastic door-siding. He drifted out of consciousness a few times when he wasn't giving Arthur directions. The map made him want to close his eyes and let himself sink into a deep, soothing sleep. He was tantalizingly close when Arthur interrupted him for the final time.

"There it is."

"Hmmm?" Merlin lifted his cheek from the car door and rubbed it. "Are you sure?" It was rather anticlimactic all things considered. Arthur pulled the car over to the roadside.

"You're on navigation," he retorted. Merlin rolled his eyes but flipped the map open obligingly for Arthur to inspect.

"Yeah… this is the spot." He pursed his lips.

"People _live _here?" Arthur intoned, and he leaned out the window to peer at the spectacle across the road from the little monument.

Merlin had the impression that once, many years ago, Spinster's Rock had stood by a picturesque little neighborhood—one built beside a tame little road lined with hedge, the houses alongside it neat and clean, interspersed with a couple of barn-sheds, gardens tucked up against the residences: a rural neighborhood, but a well groomed one nonetheless.

Now the houses were old, some tumbledown and with vegetation clambering around and over them. The sheds were fallen into disrepair, the hedges untrimmed and growing wild in all directions. A whole patch of the hedge between the Neolithic monument and the road was trampled almost flat. The old chambered tomb alone stood, one great capstone propped solidly atop the three supporting rocks, stolid in the face of time and its neighbors' changing fortunes.

"I don't think so. It looks abandoned." Merlin scanned the houses and shook his head. It was _far _too quiet, and Iseldir told him this was a refugee location. The broken windows, crumbling walls, and caved in roof nearby spoke for themselves. "But Iseldir said they were at Spinster's Rock…" Merlin stepped out of the car and crossed the road half-way towards it.

"Maybe he was lying." Arthur's voice had an edge to it. Merlin made no response. Arthur had changed a lot of opinions over the years, but it was his natural inclination to be suspicious of sorcerers. Merlin couldn't blame his friend for that.

Arthur went the other way to wander in between the houses, and Merlin crossed the old road to circle the ancient dolmen on the other side.

"They're not hiding in the grass, _Merlin_," Arthur called back. Merlin ignored him. If Iseldir said to go to Spinster's rock, then the rock was important. Otherwise he could've just given them an address.

_Maybe it's a gateway,_ Merlin mused to himself. '_Follow the key, Emrys.' _Those were the Druid's words to him as they parted ways. It sounded so much like something the dragon would say that Merlin wondered whether all those who possessed magic liked speaking in riddles. A key could be more than one thing, though… and perhaps Iseldir meant a key in the sense that one said a map had a key: something that would decode the landscape for them.

Merlin walked up to the dolmen and put a hand on one of the vertical stones supporting the top-slab. He didn't need to feel the presence of the magic to know that a powerful spell was at work. At the edge of his consciousness, faint voices murmured, muffled and quiet but present nonetheless. The Druids were here, but he didn't know how… He let his hand trail over each stone support in turn and paced a full circle around the landmark. His fingers brushed something on the surface of the rock. A triskelion was etched into the stone.

"Why don't you walk around it a few more times?" Arthur suggested from across the road. "Maybe it'll collapse like Jericho." Merlin froze with his fingers on the three-spiral symbol. A huge grin suddenly broke across his face.

"That's it!" He rubbed his thumb over the triskelion, tracing the spirals, his eyes brightening with excitement. In the very center of the triskelion was a triangle-shaped wedge, like the massive rock that capped the dolmen tomb, and around it were the three spirals. "Arthur, look!" He beckoned eagerly to his companion. Even from this distance, Merlin could see the look of exasperation on his friend's face.

"Merlin, give the bloody rocks a rest. They're not going to help," he grumbled.

"Not if you don't know what to do with them," he retorted.

"What are you going to do—push them over?" Arthur asked. Merlin waited patiently for Arthur to trudge across the road, looking rebellious.

"It'sa doorway," Merlin said, gesturing at the structure. "It's just not… activated."

"Oh. Is that the button then?" Arthur asked in obvious sarcasm, flicking a hand at the triskelion under Merlin's fingers.

"Of course it's not a button." Merlin tapped the rock. "It's more like a… key." Arthur gave him an uncomprehending look, and Merlin traced the symbol in the air with his hand. "It tells you how to open the doorway: three circles, like the spirals of the triskelion." Arthur's brow furrowed, but Merlin grabbed him by the sleeve. "We have to go around it."

"You're _not _serious," Arthur griped, but he let Merlin drag him along, if not with a great deal of grace.

"Just… humor me, alright?" Merlin gave him a little push and Arthur sighed heavily.

"This is ridiculous." _Lucky for you this doesn't require enthusiasm. _

"Now…" Merlin stopped in front of the triskelion after the third circle. Arthur folded his arms.

"Now?" he challenged. Merlin bit his lip.

"It's a doorway. You go through."

"Really?"

"Really." Merlin gave him a shove, and Arthur had to duck quickly to avoid knocking his head on the capstone. He gave Merlin a withering glare and stooped under the stone to the other side.

"Alright. I went _under _the rock. Are you happ—"

His word ended on an oddly high tone. Merlin straightened up beside him, and his breath caught in mute amazement as well. A grin spread across his face. _It _is _here! _The old homes across the road suddenly didn't look run down any longer. Their roofs were repaired, the walls were strong and firm, the gardens around them lush and growing abundantly. And now, Merlin could hear the voices, no longer just in his head but aloud. All of _this… _hidden by one intricate and powerful spell… It was truly incredible.

Arthur was drawn taut as a bowstring. Merlin's glance travelled to him and he shifted closer. It unnerved Merlin a touch if he was honest. Dolmens had been used as tombs. It was a little eerie to walk _under _one to get to the druid camp, as if one were crossing over into the land of the dead. But Arthur wasn't superstitious about that sort of thing

"Could've made the doorway a little taller, couldn't they?" Merlin said, patting the top stone. Arthur let out a small chuckle, looking a little sick. For him, the prospect of walking straight into a community of magic users was probably making his skin crawl. Yet Arthur had known what he was signing up for… and here he still stood. That thought alone made Merlin feel a rush of pride for his friend. Merlin smiled encouragingly and nudged him. "Let's go." The blond squared his shoulders, and close by Merlin's side, he stepped onto the old road.

Over the sound of speech and activity in the neighborhood, one young voice rose in greeting: not aloud, but curious and friendly inside Merlin's mind: _Hello, Emrys._

* * *

**_AN2_: Anyone care to guess who that is? ^^  
**

**Also... did anyone notice that the _only _person who ever called Lance Gwen's boyfriend was... Arthur? He may have jumped to conclusions a bit.  
****  
Again, thanks for reading! :)  
~Sandyy****  
**


	9. Hope

**AN: Well folks... It was my brother's last day home on leave, and I won't see him again till Christmas... so I may or may not have temporarily forgotten that I was supposed to post. Sorry! **

**To the Guest who reviewed both Legacies and Destinies this week, thank you so much for reading and for all your astute comments! I had to laugh at myself for your observation about Gwen. You'd be a great beta reader! :)**

**And without further delay, here is your overdue chapter.**

**.**

* * *

"Cab's here!" Morgana called from the window and flicked the blinds shut. The wheels of a heavy trunk rumbled on the flat's wooden floors. "Can I carry anything for you?" she asked, hovering by the door.

"I've got it, thanks." Morgana's flatmate set her trunk upright and smiled at her. "You're going to be brilliant. They'll love you," she said resolutely. Morgana steeled herself against the weird fluttering, squirming feeling in her stomach and smiled back.

"Thanks, Sefa." She gave her flatmate a hug. "I'll let you know how it goes. You go on. Don't keep the cabbie waiting."

"Good luck. I'll see you in October!"

"Be safe!" Morgana called after her. She lingered by the doorway while Sefa's things were loaded into the boot and waved when the car pulled out, but the tension didn't leave her figure until her flatmate vanished down the street in the cab. She exhaled shakily and turned on her heel to hurry back into the main room.

The morning had been utterly surreal thus far, and Sefa leaving was just one thing on the lift of changes and unusual events today. She'd woken to a veritable onslaught of texts and calls from which she gathered a number of things. For one, Merlin was missing, judging from the 'Have you seen my idiot flatmate' text from Arthur. That was at 1AM. Strange. Merlin wasn't usually one to be out late. No further information had been provided on Merlin's whereabouts. In addition to the texts, there were three missed calls: one from Gwen and two from Arthur, and both of them had sent her messages about the attack on Camelot. Images of Uther's burning street were plastered across the internet and stories ran on every channel from radio to television.

Amidst all of this, there was no contact from Merlin, and that worried Morgana. She'd communicated with him fairly regularly over the last months. She wondered if Arthur had ever found him… and if he was alright.

And yet, here in the silence of her flat, it was easy to feel that the burning neighborhood was no more than digital images playing across her phone screen; that her lost friend was only words in a message… that none of it was really happening. Because right now, Morgana's reality consisted of more pressing things—things that were happening here, now, today: her interview for the position at the law-firm here in Cambridge—the one that might help her pay her rent for the summer and stay out of Uther's home… and Morgause.

The ex-MP had been extremely vague about her reasons for calling—only saying that she needed to come speak with Morgana in person and as soon as possible. Hence, why Sefa's cab being late had nearly driven Morgana to distraction.

_She's gone, _Morgana projected, cautiously as she collected stray items from the living room—books and papers from the finals she'd recently finished. The answer startled her with its alacrity:

_I'm here. _Morgana took a breath and turned around. It sent a shiver of mixed fear and excitement through her. One day_, _Morgause promised, she would teach Morgana all of it. The young woman put the books she'd been tidying down on the coffee table beside her.

"What are you doing here?" The question had been on the tip of Morgana's tongue ever since Morgause contacted her early that morning. "Sefa could've seen you, or the cab driver. Someone could come visiting… We can't—" Morgause took her hands with a soothing smile.

"No one but you will see me, Morgana. Don't worry." Morgause shifted her hands to Morgana's arms. "I'm afraid this isn't a social visit."

"Something's happening," Morgana inferred shrewdly. Morgause's smile returned.

"You promised me you'd be ready when this time came," she reminded her. Morgana's heart fluttered. She nodded.

"I'm ready," she replied confidently. A lot of things had changed in the last term, especially now that she knew who she was… and _what _she was. The knowledge burned deep inside her fueled by the built up frustrations of many years.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I am." Morgana's eyes glowed with fierce determination. " I want Uther out of power. I want _us _to be free."

"Good. I knew I could rely on you," Morgause smiled, and the warmth and pride infused in her voice made the young woman's heart soar. "Listen carefully. We don't have much time. Cenred and Alvarr will be here within the day. I'm going to be in the city where we'll occupy the important locations and find Uther's own forces before they can regroup and counter us. But I need _you_ to be elsewhere. I have something far more important you must do for us." Morgana nodded attentively. "You need to find Uther."

"Find Uther?" Morgana stiffened, and her expression fell. Morgana squeezed her arm lightly.

"I know you can do it. He's been lying low ever since the dragon's initial attack, and he'll go to ground the moment he hears there's been an attack. It's essential that we know _where _he is if we are to succeed. He'll want to keep you safe—close to him. You can be a perfect inside source for us."

"I…" Morgana glanced down at her hands and hesitated. "He won't… I haven't spoken to him for the past… year."

"You're his loving daughter. He'll welcome you back with open arms," Morgause said smoothly. Morgana bit the inside of her cheek and looked down, and Morgause took her hand. "Uther lied to you," she reminded her quietly. "To Arthur, to everyone he knew. You will only be setting things right. It's time someone took the power out of his hands." Morgana nodded again and took a breath. She couldn't hesitate now of all times. This was important.

"I don't know where he is. He's not going to tell me," she added in a last weak attempt at protest.

"You know someone else who _does_ know where he is, and _he _will tell you," Morgause asserted. Her tone made Morgana falter. For the first time a tiny flicker of fear crept into her heart when she met Morgause's dark eyes. _Not him. No… I can't bring him into this. _

"Please…" She lifted her head, and her voice was edged with worry. "I don't want Arthur hurt."

"Morgana," Morgause's voice sharpened. "Whose side are you on? Are you with Uther, or are you with me?"

"With you, of course!" Morgana was quick to answer.

"Then you must trust me." Morgause released her hand. "Arthur is far too important to harm. I have other uses for him." Her words still made Morgana's insides twist with uneasiness and a tiny touch of protectiveness.

"Why? What is Arthur important for?"

"He's a voice everyone listens to," Morgause said. "Like you, Morgana. And I believe… he only needs the right touch of persuasion to be brought about."

"Persuasion?" Morgana echoed softly.

"He must know the truth."

"About me?" Morgana paled.

"Arthur has many pressure points, Morgana. You are one of them. Yes, certainly he must be told what you know about yourself—of your true parentage." Morgause smiled. "But most importantly, he must know the truth about his father—and of course about himself. He is not as unfailingly loyal as he would have the world believe. You must have seen the statement that the press has been circulating this morning." Yes… she'd seen that too. Morgana's eyes strayed to the counter where her purse lay. She kept the paper there—the knowledge that only she held now—proof of Uther's lies and hypocrisies. Arthur might have some reservations about his father's policy, but he would take this hard… very hard. And yet… _It's for the best. For all of us… _What could be better than having her own brother—her brother both in blood and upbringing—stand at her side when they brought about the change that the country so desperately needed? She lifted her chin.

"I'll find Uther."

* * *

Merlin didn't recognize the lean, tall figure at first. An elderly, gray haired woman rose to meet them placed a hand on the teenager's arm protectively, but the young Druid seemed entirely unfazed by the appearance of two outsiders, and when he met Merlin's gaze, his eyes sparked a memory poignant enough to remain, as keen as though it were yesterday. It was Arthur who spoke first.

"Mordred?" he asked, his voice rising in disbelief. The smooth, childish curves of the boy's face had sharpened into a young man's fine, chiseled features, his hair was thick, curlier, and as dark as Merlin's own, and he was nearly of a height with the warlock now. His eyes, though, still the same brilliant and inquisitive blue-gray, gleamed with lively curiosity, no longer quiet and subdued as they'd been when Merlin first met him. The boy couldn't have been more than ten—eleven at most—when Merlin and Arthur first met him. Now, he was a teenager, fourteen or fifteen perhaps, with a voice already changed and smooth, and he had the stature and bearing of someone far older than himself. The smile that broke across his face, though, was full of youthful excitement.

"Hello, Arthur."

"Come on another errand for Gaius?" Mordred's apparent guardian enquired, regarding him with a curious if guarded expression. If possible, the blond's eyes widened even further, and for a second, he looked as lost as a fish out of water.

"I… no," he stammered at last. "I don't really run errands for Gaius… you know that." The skin around the woman's eyes crinkled with amusement, and Merlin blinked. Arthur _knew _her? Was he supposed to believe that his friend, the son of magic's greatest persecutor and detractor, had been consorting with not one but _two _Druids? More than that… Arthur looked _guilty. _"I'm sorry… it's my fault you're here." The woman smiled.  
"I can think of worse places, Pendragon. You meant me no harm," she replied. She extended a hand to Merlin. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Brigid Fyr." Merlin opened his mouth and faltered for a split second. _Oh. _He took her hand, recovering himself quickly.

"I'm Merlin Astur—Gaius' nephew. Arthur tells me you saved my life." Her smile broadened.

"It was my pleasure." Her face and tone both radiated interest and something else: something akin to respect which made Merlin stare in bewilderment.

"It's him! I told you it was him!" Mordred cut in enthusiastically. The boy was fairly bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning with barely restrained excitement. Merlin felt a spike of panic. He absolutely couldn't afford for Mordred _or _Brigid to call him 'Emrys' in front of Arthur. He released her hand and fumbled desperately for something to direct their attention away from himself;

"We're here looking for—"

"I know why you're here," the woman interrupted. "We've heard of the dragon's attack as well."

"You know Balinor?" Arthur asked, voice rising hopefully.

"Yes. And Iseldir might have saved you the trip."

"Why?" Merlin tensed.

"Balinor doesn't live among us. He prefers to be alone… and he certainly won't help you." Her gaze shifted to Arthur.

"We won't know until we try," Arthur replied stubbornly. "Can you at least show us where he lives?"

"I can show you." Mordred offered instantly. "It's only a ten minute drive from here. Maybe if you talk to him—"

"Mordred," Brigid's voice was edged with warning. Mordred pulled free of her grip.

"Arthur saved my life. I want to help him."

"Great!" Arthur already had his keys in hand and was turning to go with Mordred at his side. Merlin could feel the Druid woman's gaze heavy on him.

_I trust Mordred will be safe with you, Emrys. _Merlin tried to ignore the use of the prophecy name.

_He is safe with Arthur. I would pledge my life on that. _He had half turned to go when he stopped abruptly to avoid running straight into a small boy with curly blond hair whose head was tipped back as he looked up at the warlock with lively curiosity. Suddenly Merlin became keenly aware of countless eyes on him. He hadn't realized there were half a dozen other Druids who had stopped to look at him—old and young, one white haired man looking at him from the porch of an adjacent house, a tall blond woman kneeling in a garden patch, but most appearing from around the corner of a house or standing in a doorway… as if they'd come merely for the purpose of seeing _him_. A movement in the window of the nearest house turned Merlin's head, though, and he looked in time to spot a young face and a cascade of dark hair before she was gone.

"Merlin!" Arthur's call almost didn't register. Merlin stopped, rooted in place, staring at the now vacant window. He heard the blond's footsteps returning, then a hand was waving in front of his face. "Merlin?" Arthur flicked him on the ear. "Anyone in there?" Merlin shied away from Arthur's hand. "Did one of the Druids scare you? You look like you've seen a ghost," Arthur observed with a smirk.

"I think I did," Merlin said slowly. Arthur snorted.

"Don't tell me you're getting superstitious now," he scoffed. "Let's go. We've got a dragon lord to find." Merlin shook himself almost angrily and turned to go, and he saw the curtain twitch. He let out an impatient breath. Arthur was right. He was being ridiculous.

* * *

"Balinor lives up here, just beyond the edge of the trees." Merlin leaned forward between the two front seats and looked where Mordred was pointing. The house looked more worn and unkempt than the rest of the Druids' homes, its siding faded in color and its windows dark and unwashed. Arthur pulled onto the shabby road amidst the trees close to the old house. "You shouldn't mind what he says too much," Mordred said, pausing with his hand on handle of the car door. "He's not used to visitors—especially not ones from… from outside," he said slowly.

"We won't overstay our welcome," Arthur assured him. Mordred looked a little ill at ease still, but he led the way to the door. Mordred didn't need keys to the house, of course. Merlin saw the young Druid's eyes flicker briefly when he put his hand on the door handle. The lock clicked softly. It didn't look like Arthur noticed. Merlin looked at his friend from the corner of his eye, and he saw Arthur list sideways almost imperceptibly. The blond quickly stepped backwards and shifted his weight to re-balance, but Merlin wasn't fooled. He dropped back a step to let Arthur enter before him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just a bit tired," Arthur muttered and quickened his pace to keep step with Mordred.

The tang of cigarette smoke hung in the air, even back by the doorway. Mordred led the way down a short hall and through a door to the left. The room was lit by a small desk lamp. Beside it a dark figure was seated in the ancient looking armchair. He had his back to the three arrivals, and all that could be made out was the outline of his shoulders and his black hair generously sprinkled with silver-gray strands. A ripple of smoke snaked through the pale halo of the lamp and billowed towards the ceiling, mixing with the haze in the room. Merlin wrinkled his nose against the smell.

"Mr. Lynch?"

"What do you want, Mordred?" Merlin's chest contracted. It shouldn't have mattered; he'd never known the man. He had no real connection to this Balinor except what Gaius had told him mere hours ago, and yet he found himself unable to stop analyzing every tiny detail from the second he heard the man's rough, rasping voice.

"Nothing," Mordred answered. "I only came to check on you. And I've brought some visitors."

"I don't want to meet any more newcomers," Balinor growled. "You and Kara were enough. No one else needs to come here." Merlin stepped forward.

"We're sorry to disturb you, but Iselder told us you could help." The new voice caught Balinor's attention. A weighty pause followed before he rose from his seat and faced Merlin, his movements stiff and slow. Shrouded in shadows though he was, Merlin made out a long face with dark brown, deep set eyes and a thick beard that matched his gray-streaked hair. His dark eyes narrowed in evident displeasure. He lowered his cigarette, pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger.

"Mordred, what is this?" he demanded.

"Iseldir sent them," Mordred replied patiently.

"Iseldir can go to hell," Balinor snarled. "Can't he let a man die in peace?" Merlin clenched his teeth over a surge of bitter disappointment. He was beginning to understand what Brigid had told them.

"He will. We'll all _burn _if you don't help us," he said through his teeth. The cryptic comment didn't even pique Balinor's curiosity. He only laughed hoarsely.

"If a sickly old man is your only hope, then you had better accept your fate, boy."

"We understand that you're more than that," Arthur interrupted. "You _are_ the dragon lord, aren't you?" Balinor's heavy brows drew together, and the shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen.

"Mordred, tell me: has Iseldir gone senile early?" Mordred looked neither amused nor perturbed. He was plainly accustomed to Balinor's caustic personality.

"No, sir—"

"I want them out," Balinor growled. Mordred shook his head, a stubborn gleam in his eyes.

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Arthur. He saved my life, even when he knew that I was a Druid. I think you should hear him out." Balinor's scowl deepened. He leveled Arthur with a look of barely sustained tolerance.

"What do you need from a 'dragon lord', then?" His voice contained a trace of poorly veiled mockery. Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"A dragon was sighted attacking Camelot," the blond said. He closed his eyes briefly and took a long breath. Merlin could tell that his patience with the man was worn as thin as his strength. "I realize," he resumed carefully, "You're under no obligation to help, but you may be the only one who can stop him. I doubt I need to tell you what that creature can do if it chooses." Balinor studied him in silence for a long moment.

"His name," he said at length, "Is Kilgarrah. And he does not act blindly. He knows how it feels to lose every member of his kin—everyone and everything he cares about… to be treated worse than the dirt beneath another being's feet. I can't blame him for seeking vengeance." He turned his back, and his hand rose to his lips again. The end of the cigarette glowed softly in the dim room. Hunith hated smoking, Merlin thought hollowly.

"Vengeance?" Arthur echoed, and a spark of anger lit in his eyes, and Merlin didn't even try to stop him as he launched into an angry response. "Camelot is burning to the ground as we speak," Arthur said. "Homes are being destroyed. Innocent people are dying. Vengeance solves nothing. It's wrong enough on its own, but blind vengeance is pure madness!"

"What would you understand of vengeance, Pendragon?" Balinor turned about sharply, eyes flashing in the pale lamplight. "You who were raised to be privileged, protected, taught what to think and see and do from the moment you were born?" He fixed a burning gaze on Arthur. "I had a home in Ireland—a woman I loved. I worked a quiet job, minded my own business. I was doing no harm. It was men like me whom your father killed." The scorn in his voice was nearly palpable. "Tell me, did your father ever speak of the Purge to you—of the hundreds upon hundreds of people he rounded up and slaughtered like animals? Did he tell you how he lured the dragons and their sorcerers to him with false promises of protection, tales of peace and safety—how he murdered the sorcerers when they were at his mercy then hunted the defenseless dragons down one by one? Did he tell you how he hunted _us—_the men who escaped, and how he had each of us murdered along with our families and all those we loved, to ensure that the dragon lords did not pass on their legacies? God knows it was fortunate for the poor girl I loved that I didn't marry her or she'd be dead too." _That_ was why. Merlin shuddered. Hunith hadn't dared to breathe the name Balinor for fear of seeing her son murdered… Balinor's face twisted in a sneer. "I don't know if you're truly blind or you choose not to see it. Perhaps it's a Pendragon trait. Keeps you sane as you step through the streams of blood that have stained your hands."

"This has nothing to do with Arthur!" Merlin interrupted angrily. "You don't know anything about him."

"I think I know enough," Balinor returned. "He's asking me to help Uther—to protect the sick, twisted country his father built." Merlin's mouth went dry.

"He's _asking _you to help the people who live there—innocent people who are suffering for another man's crimes," he said. "If you don't, you are damning them all to death."

"So be it," Balinor replied. "Let Uther know what it feels like to watch his people suffer." Balinor crushed out the red glow of his cigarette amidst a small collection of other stubs in the tray. "I've heard them out. Mordred, they can leave now."

"You're content to let innocent people die to settle an old score?" Arthur's voice was thick with disgust. "Have you no conscience?"

"You should ask _that _question," Balinor replied in a low voice, "Of your father." Arthur turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Merlin didn't budge. He felt hollow inside. He didn't know what he'd expected to find when Gaius told him this man was his father… but the person he faced right now was far from anything he'd imagined.

"And you are no better than him," he said quietly. Balinor stilled.

"Don't waste your time, Merlin!" Arthur shouted back, and the door clicked shut behind him. Merlin ignored his friend. He knew he had Balinor's attention, at least for a second or two. He took a breath.

"My mother works as a nurse in Armagh." He saw Balinor's shoulders tense. No doubt the name was familiar. "She always taught me that life is precious—that it would be wrong even to stand back and watch a man die when you knew could help."

"Don't preach to me of morals," Balinor warned, his previous attentiveness now dissolving into anger again.

"I'm not," Merlin said. "I only thought…" He shifted. "You spoke of a home—a life in Ireland that you had before the purge…" He hesitated. There was no point. The man didn't seem to care about the innocents involved—the lives that could be lost… but he had nothing to lose. "My mother spoke of you too… when it was safe. I was hoping you'd be like her. I know she admired you as much as she loved you." Balinor didn't say anything. Merlin ran one of his scarf tassels between his fingers and looked down. "I wish I understood why," he finished, letting a trace of bitterness creep into his voice. He turned, unable to look the man in the eye any longer. The atmosphere of the dark room and smell of the smoke were suffocating him.

"I'm sorry…" Mordred was waiting by the door and followed Merlin out to the car with his eyes on the ground. "I thought we might be able to persuade him."

"It's alright. You did everything you could." Merlin said heavily. Arthur was sitting in the back seat of the car with the door open, and his head rested on the seat back. He shifted his head just enough to look up at Merlin from the corner of his eye.

"That's it then." The faintest trace of resentment colored his voice. "Camelot will burn." Merlin shook his head.

"We'll find a way. We'll stop him," he insisted. There had to be a way to break the enchantment. If his book didn't have it, perhaps one of the Druids here would. Arthur closed his eyes again, and Merlin crouched next to the car and put a hand on his friend's forehead. No fever or signs of illness, though the fact that Arthur wasn't protesting concerned him. He pursed his lips. "Are you sure you're alright?" he demanded. Arthur grunted noncommittally and lifted his shoulders. "Gaius was right. You shouldn't have come."

"I'm fine." Arthur sat up, fumbling for his keys.

"No you're not. I'll drive," Merlin said firmly. "You can lie down in the back seat. You haven't had enough sleep." He shrugged his coat off and bundled it up.

"You don't have a license," Arthur pointed out.

"Yeah, and I think I'll still do a better job than you right now," Merlin retorted, handing Arthur the makeshift pillow. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine." He fished the keys out of his pocket and passed them to Merlin. "Knock yourself out." Merlin gave him a suspicious look when he pulled his legs into the car and stretched out over the back seats with his eyes shut.

"Is he…?" Mordred shifted a step closer.

"He's fine. He just needs rest. Come on. I'll take you back." Merlin shut Arthur's door gently and settled into the driver's seat, crushing a spark of apprehension. He'd had next to no training in driving… but he'd seen Gaius drive places before. He'd figure it out. He put the key in, turned it, and made a face.

"I think," Mordred offered from the passenger seat, "You're supposed to put the clutch in first." From the back seat, Arthur snorted, and Merlin scowled at him. He stopped trying to twist the key into submission and put the clutch down. This time the car hummed into life when he turned it. _Okay… clutch off, gas on. This can't be so hard. _He jiggled the gearshift experimentally and pushed it up and left, into first gear. So far so good... Then the car shuddered, and the engine went off with a clunk. Arthur's jacket rustled in the back seat, and he opened the door.

"Maybe you should let Mordred drive," he suggested dryly. Merlin turned a withering look on his friend, opening his mouth to deliver an irritable retort, but the words died in his throat.

"Lie back down, Pendragon. You're in no shape to be driving." Arthur stood up so fast, he narrowly missed knocking his head on the roof of the car.

"You're… coming with us?"

"It doesn't look like you'll be getting anywhere without me," Balinor replied. Arthur's brow furrowed. He seemed caught somewhere between hope and disbelief. "You were right. I would be condemning the country if I chose to turn a blind eye to this. The fault does not lie with its people… nor with you." Arthur let out a shaky breath and sank back onto the seat.

"Thank you… I… can't promise you any reward, but I'll do everything I can to ensure your safety."

"I don't do this for payment," Balinor returned. "I've little enough left here to live for. Don't trouble yourself on my account." Merlin stood, keys in hand, and strayed a glance at his half-lucid friend.

"Can you…?"

"Of course." Balinor reached for the keys. "You took your mother's last name?" Merlin paused, and he glanced back at Arthur again, wary, then nodded.

"I'm Merlin. Merlin Astur."

"Well… Merlin," Balinor said quietly as took the keys from him. "I wish I understood why too."

* * *

**. **

**AN: Any thoughts on Balinor? I hope I characterized him well. I thought a lot about how to write him here! **

**On another note, I'd like to give you all a heads up. Next Saturday I am taking the GRE, and I'll be buried in my books studying for it all week. There's a very real possibility that the next chapter will be late again. (Sorry!) The week after THAT school starts up. And of course, my wisdom teeth also picked this convenient time to need removing... So you can all take bets on whether or not I'll write a coherent chapter in the first week of September. ;) **

**After THAT, school will be in full swing again. My plan is to post every other week, but I can't really promise that, but I'll do my best! ****Sorry that my life is so busy! :P **

**Thank you for bearing with me, though. To all of you who have fav'd, followed, and especially those of you who leave reviews, thank you so very much! Your feedback really means a lot to me, and it keeps me writing! **

**Cheers!**

**Sandyy**


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